Anima Cruciari
by Azolean
Summary: Sheppard could still hear those last moments in his head. Having replayed the entire day in his mind a thousand times since Lorne's death, he still could not see how his XO could have possibly survived. Whoever was in Beckett's house right now would pay for this sick joke in blood and pain, unless there was a damn good explanation.
1. Prologue

**Prologue:**

Colonel Sheppard found himself revising the thought that informing the family members of servicemen killed in action was the worst part of his job. As he stood in the bright Southern California sunlight in his dress uniform staring down at the coffin in front of him, he began to think the worst part of being the commanding officer for the Atlantis Expedition's military force was this right here. It was a beautiful, sunny day with perfect waves that anyone would love to tackle with a surf board. It was a day for picnics, outings, and just general fun.

It was the day he buried one of his closest friends of the last seven years.

While someone who didn't even know the man droned on about his eternal soul, Sheppard's eyes were drawn to the white marble headstone. It was exactly like a million others he'd seen in his lifetime. It was just like the ones he'd seen when he'd buried his friends from his tours of duty in Afghanistan. Even standing here beside the casket and staring at the headstone didn't seem to make it real. A tiny part of his mind still wanted to deny it. The rest of him was just numb.

.

EVAN LORNE

LT COL

US AIR FORCE

MAY 6 1970

APR 18 2012

BELOVED SON

BROTHER UNCLE

.

He was pretty certain it was going to take more than a bottle of bourbon and a night out on the East Pier back in Atlantis to get over this. For that matter, Sheppard wasn't sure he even wanted to go back right now. He almost feared what it would feel like once the reality of the loss settled in. He knew returning to Atlantis would make it bluntly clear that his friend and second in command was gone. He could already imagine the thousands of ways he would be reminded that Evan wasn't coming back from this one.

And the fact that he had died saving Sheppard's ass yet again wasn't helping. Struggling to bring himself back to focus on the present, he felt himself hearing those words over and over again in his head.

 _"It's been an honor, sir. Now get our teams out of here, John! I don't know how big this…Son of a—"_

 _The last thing he heard over Lorne's radio was the man screaming before the explosion, visible even from above the complex in the Jumper, as it silenced his friend's screams forever._

After that, Sheppard wasn't quite sure how he got through the rest of the funeral. Part of his rational brain said it was no different than any of the other funerals he'd attended. But the unfounded guilt he'd always carried around screamed that it was very different. Evan had been a friend and not just a fellow officer. Somehow he managed to get through it, though. Feeling it appropriate, John gave his friend's empty coffin one last salute, before turning to leave.

Halfway to his car, a woman's voice just behind him shook him out of his dark thoughts. Turning, he found himself staring into watery blue eyes set in a face that was so familiar it almost hurt. Evan's twin sister, Emily. Forcing back his thoughts, he returned her greeting with a brief nod for her boys, Kevin and Alexander.

"Colonel, I know you and my brother were friends. He told me this sketchbook was inspired by some sci-fi game stuff you two enjoyed working on in your free time. I know he'd want you to have this."

Not for the first time Sheppard felt like he'd been punched in the gut. He had never been one to keep mementos beyond the occasional picture; and even those usually wound up buried in a box after a while. He also knew he couldn't refuse it. The moment his hand touched it, he just checked out. Still wrapped comfortably in his numbness, he thanked her, got in his car, and briefly entertained the notion of throwing it out the window on the freeway.

Still running on auto-pilot, Sheppard began the journey back to the SGC and, eventually, home to Atlantis…minus one brother in his unofficially adopted family.


	2. Chapter 01

_**A/N:** Okay, so the teaser was posted on 2/12 with the idea that this fic would be done in a week or two and posted some time after that. Well, the Evil OverLorne decided it must be finished NOW. And, as I recall, sleep deprivation is still considered a form of torture. One he has learned to use very well, I might add. Either he wouldn't let me sleep, or he was giving me nightmares too graphic to post even in a fic like this. _

_So, yeah, it's done early. I'm revising as I post, so forgive any mistakes. But this one literally made me sick more than once during the writing. So I'll be finishing this as quickly as possible and then trying to move on. I might even be allowed to sleep nightmare-free now that it's done._

 _Enjoy!_

 _._

 _Special shout out to_ **KeianaLunae**! _She's been an impromptu beta, cheerleader, and absolutely fabulous reader all the way around. I can't thank you enough for your kind words and helpful feedback!_

* * *

 **Chapter One:**

Following the scent of cooking meat, Yann stopped by a vendor's stall to buy a meat pie. He'd been so busy tracking down his current target, he couldn't remember the last time he'd stopped to eat. Now that he'd located the woman and where she was living, all he had to do was wait until after dark when he was less likely to be seen entering her house. He didn't like it when people noticed him, even if there was nothing they could do to stop him. Being an assassin chosen for this specific task by his goddess had been an honor almost beyond the comprehension of his little human mind. His goddess' benevolence was matched only by her beauty.

Sighing contentedly as he thought about her vibrant red hair, flawless pale green skin, and enthralling yellow eyes he felt his heart stutter. She must have been very pleased with him when she'd given him this assignment. Even now, days later, he shuddered blissfully remembering how she'd let him look upon her visage while purring his name. Still feeling the euphoria of looking her in the eyes as she gave him the Gift of Life, he'd practically danced through the gate.

Still chewing on the hot meat pie, Yann scowled briefly without even realizing it as he recalled those first moments when he'd stepped through the gate. As had happened so many times on so many other worlds, the voice in his head had assaulted him. It wasn't more than a whisper right now, but it tended to come back when he stepped through the gate in certain places. He wasn't sure why it did, but it was damn annoying. It had almost killed his good mood.

Shaking it off, he licked the last of the gravy off his fingers. With little else to do until after nightfall when he would sneak into the woman's house on the other side of town to slit her throat and cut off her head to bring back to his goddess, he just wandered around the marketplace of this little city enjoying the sights, the sounds, the people. So many happy faces, he couldn't help but smile all over again. It was a beautiful day and this was a great place to kill time. And, for now, the voice that had tormented him for as long as he could remember was almost silent.

Spotting some children playing a ball game that had them all laughing and squealing, Yann stopped to watch. When one of them missed the ball and fell face-first into the gravelly dirt right in front of him, he couldn't help but react. Kneeling down, he pulled off his scarf and helped her back to her feet. The little girl's hands were skinned and bleeding in places. Though she hiccoughed a few times, she held back her tears admirably. Using his scarf, he wiped away the blood, dirt, and tears and even had her smiling again by the time she turned to rejoin the others still playing their game.

"Colonel? Colonel Lorne?"

Sensing someone walking up behind him, Yann spun to his feet with his knife in hand. Silently he cursed himself for letting his guard down. But the moment his eyes caught sight of the man jumping back away from him, his world shattered. The voice! It was so loud! He couldn't hear himself think. His head was too small to contain it. His skull was going to explode. Everything he tried to silence the voice failed. He couldn't even hear his own screams over it.

EVAN LORNE. LIEUTENANT COLONEL, UNITED STATES AIR FORCE. FIVE SEVEN THREE NINE EIGHT TWO ONE EIGHT. MAY SIXTH NINETEEN SEVENTY. EVAN LORNE. LIEUTENANT COLONEL, UNITED STATES AIR FORCE. FIVE SEVEN THREE NINE EIGHT TWO ONE EIGHT. MAY SIXTH NINETEEN SEVENTY. EVAN LORNE. LIEUTENANT…

~o~o~o~

Wiping the sweat off his forehead for the umpteenth time today, Beckett grumbled under his breath at the sheer stupidity of humans. Sometimes the trouble they could get into left him amazed humans had survived at all; let alone two galaxies full of them. It seemed young males in the Pegasus Galaxy were really no different from those he'd known and treated back on Earth. If it looked dangerous and exciting, it must be a direct challenge to their masculinity, and therefore mastered on site. And, in this case, for the boy's troubles he earned a scar that would be with him for the rest of his life, and a broken arm that would take weeks to heal. Having finished setting the bones, closing the wound, and now wrapping the arm and splinting it, he gave his final instructions and warnings to the boy's mother and sent them on their way.

Finally alone again in his house, he was reminded of the real reason he'd come back. Though he'd decided to use this planet as his "home", it was little more than a storage location and occasional refuge when he needed to take a break. This time he'd come prepared to restock. He was out of nearly a dozen different herbs he'd learned to use for various maladies so that people could treat themselves with what was available around them after he left. The antibiotics he got regularly from Atlantis were also running dangerously low.

"One thing at a time," he verbally reminded himself.

Before he would make a trip back to Atlantis, he needed to restock what he could here at the market. The huge diversity of goods at this market had been one of the biggest reasons he'd chose this as his base of operations. He didn't have to go hopping all over the galaxy to get what he needed. Almost all if it was sold right here by people who went out to gather it themselves. He was more than willing to pay them the extra for not having to spend weeks restocking. Gathering up his bags, he headed out of his little house on the edge of the village.

Taking a deep breath of the fresh, cool air outside, he felt reinvigorated. The stiflingly warm confines of his little house in the height of the afternoon had always bothered him. But, now he had an excuse to be out and about. Setting his feet in the direction of the marketplace, he ran through his mental list one more time. Reminding himself that he was running low on a couple of other items he would need from Atlantis, he filed it away for later.

Of course, this turned his thoughts back toward Atlantis again. He still marveled at the wonders the Ancient city had produced over the years. He still missed living there, too. Every time he returned it warmed his heart to see all his friends and know they were safe and alive. And the feeling of comfort and welcome the city seemed to exude to those who possessed the natural ATA gene strongly enough was a wonder in itself. But, it wasn't home anymore; neither was Earth. Though no one had ever made him feel like anything other than the real Carson Beckett after the first day of his return, he'd still not felt right staying there. Now the whole of the Pegasus Galaxy was his home. He missed his family on Earth, he missed his friends in Atlantis, but he was happy with being a wandering doctor putting his skills as a healer to good use. Though this was not what he envisioned for his future when he'd graduated medical school, he mused to himself.

Then again, it was nothing short of a miracle that he'd ever managed to get back to the Pegasus Galaxy in the first place. The shadow of those months stuck on Earth with the city floating in San Francisco Bay, invisible to the world, had been rough. For a while it seemed they would never have enough power to get the city back to its home galaxy. Then, once they'd found enough ZPM's to make it happen, the IOA and just about every government entity aware of the Stargate Program had fought to keep the city there. Even with the threat of the Goa'uld, Ori, and Replicators firmly resolved and Earth safe from attack, they had denied them the right to take the city back to Pegasus. Woolsey and every permanent resident of Atlantis had fought bitterly to prove their case. The Wraith were a threat to Earth, but it wouldn't be able to effectively defend Earth here forever. More to the point, they could stop the attack there before it ever became a real threat to Earth; but only if they were in the right place to do so.

Before it was over, it had nearly come down to a sort of mutiny. There had even been whispers in the shadows of taking the city back and declaring it its own country and then returning to Pegasus as an independent entity. Woolsey had said nothing about this and pretended he'd never heard it. Sheppard had spoken out directly against the idea, surprising everyone. To this day many suspected the Colonel had had something up his sleeve none of them knew about; because shortly after he'd spoken against the idea of seceding from Earth, the tables had turned suddenly in their favor. Before they left Earth, Lieutenant Colonel Sheppard had been promoted to Colonel Sheppard, as well.

Catching sight of the market just up ahead, Beckett shook off those memories and turned his attention back to the present. His nose catching the scent of those delicious meat pies he so rarely had a chance to indulge in, he diverted slightly to the right of his usual path. Coming around the vendor from behind a store, he smiled brightly as his stomach rumbled hungrily.

"Afternoon, Timi!" he said happily. "How's Iana doing? Have her headaches come back at all?"

"Doctor Beckett!" the big man said happily, shaking Carson's hand vigorously. "I didn't know you were back! You must come to dinner tonight. Iana and the girls will be eager to see you. And, yes, she hasn't had a headache since we last saw you. The roots you gave her have worked a miracle."

Waving off Timi's enthusiastic gratitude, Beckett reached for the small money pouch in his pocket. His hand froze in its place when he caught sight of Timi's brief glare. With a smile and a shake of his head, Beckett relented and took his empty hand out of his pocket, earning him a satisfied smile from his favorite food vendor. They'd had this argument many times before, and he knew he wasn't going to win this time, either. Ever since he'd learned the source of Timi's wife's headaches and prescribe a root tea to prevent them she'd been a totally different person; one that Timi swore he hadn't seen since they were first married. Beckett was just happy to know he'd helped and had refused payment of any kind. Hence the reason Timi refused to accept payment to this day for any of the wonderful meat pies he gave Beckett when he was here.

While waiting for his extremely fresh meat pie to cool enough to eat without blistering his tongue, Beckett chatted for a few more minutes. Finally moving away from the vendor stall and into the market with his cooling meat pie, he caught sight of some kids playing a ball game. One of them he recognized as Timi's daughter. Smiling, he waved to her when she caught sight of him. A moment later it turned into a wince as she fell face-first into the dirt. Moving toward her to help her back to her feet, he stopped when he noticed another man kneeling down to do the same. Not sensing any threat, he started to turn away when he caught the sound of the man's voice as he used his scarf to clean Mimi's scraped hands. Stepping closer he became certain. Strange as it was to see him out of uniform, and stranger still to see him in local clothing, he knew for a fact that this was Lorne.

"Colonel? Colonel Lorne?"

Beckett didn't even notice his meat pie falling from numb fingers when Lorne spun around frighteningly fast with a knife aimed at his ribs. An instant later he found himself catching Lorne as the man dropped his knife to hold the sides of his head screaming in pain. Before he'd had a chance to do more than react, Lorne went limp in his grip. By this point every pair of eyes was on them as he struggled to readjust his grip. Struggling to comprehend what had just happened, he glanced around at the gathering crowd.

"I need someone to help me get him back to my house," he called, pulling the shirt up the man's back just to confirm it was Lorne. The expected whip scars* left no doubt in his mind. This was definitely Evan Lorne, but something was seriously wrong.

In no time half a dozen people had stepped up to help. Just about every person in this little city knew Doctor Beckett. Probably half the populace had been treated by him in the last couple of years he'd been using this place as his home base. There was no shortage of people here willing to assist. Beckett relinquished Lorne to them to carry while he rushed slightly ahead of them to his house. Clearing the table in the main room, he directed them to lay the unconscious Lorne on the table. He didn't even wait for them to leave before trying to check on him.

Seeing nothing physical, he wrestled for a moment on what to do. Obviously something had happened to the Colonel if he was dressed like this. But equally obvious was the fact that he wasn't himself, at least at the moment. From what he could tell it was something akin to a migraine, but much worse. Having no idea what had caused it, he couldn't really decide how to treat it. He suspected a head injury, but couldn't find any sign of one, recent or old. He had to get the Colonel back to Atlantis for further evaluation. With no one readily available to watch over Lorne, Beckett opted to give him something for the pain that should knock him out for at least a couple of hours. Grabbing his GDO, he headed out at a nearly frantic pace for the gate.

~o~o~o~

"I hear what you're saying, Colonel Sheppard. But I bloody well know that this _is_ Evan Lorne."

" _With all due respect, Doctor—"_

"With all due respect, Mister Woolsey, bugger off. I don't have time to argue. Either send the equipment I need and some medical personnel, or send a security team to help me get him back to Atlantis. I'll not stand here jabbering all day while I have a patient suffering in my care and in need of what I don't have to give."

" _Hang tight, Doc. We'll be there in fifteen minutes."_

" _Colonel! I—"_

Whatever else Woolsey had been about to say to Colonel Sheppard was cut off when someone on that end cut the connection to the gate. Beckett couldn't help but feel at least some petty satisfaction at that. It wasn't that he didn't like the man, but Woolsey tended to be too much of a pencil-pusher at times. This was one of those times he needed to realize that standing around and discussing it wasn't going to accomplish anything and they had to move quickly.

Pacing around the DHD Beckett again tried to wrap his brain around this sudden turn of events. He'd been away from Atlantis for so long, he had no idea that Lorne had been declared KIA over two months ago. Though it stung that they hadn't told him, he knew he was hard to locate at the best of times the way he'd hopped around the galaxy the last several months. Shaking that off, he tried to focus on what he would need to do depending on which team came through the gate. He hoped it would be Colonel Sheppard's team and not a medical team and equipment. With Lorne in the condition he was in, he doubted he was going to be able to accurately diagnose and treat whatever was wrong with the man; especially since he seemed intact physically. It had to be some sort of head trauma for him to have reacted the way he did and collapsed as he had. That worried Beckett. All too often traumatic head injuries left a person changed beyond recognition forever afterward. He was going to need the kind of medical equipment that couldn't be moved off Atlantis.

Growling to himself and pacing, Beckett tried to reel in his churning thoughts and emotions. It wouldn't do the Colonel any good to be all wound up. He had been so frantic he hadn't even considered asking more details about how Lorne had supposedly died in the explosion. Taking a deep breath and forcing his racing heart to calm, he slowed his pacing and tried not to look at his watch every thirty seconds. For now, there was nothing he could do but wait.

 _*Whip Scars: See story "Salute"._

* * *

 _ **A/N:**_ _While doing a bit of digging for some totally unrelated stuff I found out that the name Evan is the Welsh version of John. And, long after Lorne gave me the name Yann, I found out that Yann is a Breton version of John._

 _Sorry, I was so amused by this I just had to share._


	3. Chapter 02

**Chapter Two**

Some days Colonel Sheppard wondered why he did it. There were times he really just wanted to tell Woolsey to blow off. Today was one of those days. The bureaucrat in him was out in force this morning. Every nit-picky, minute detail of being a pencil-pusher had come forth to nag Sheppard yet again about how he managed the military contingent. It was none of his business, and Sheppard had just managed to convey that without throwing paper wads at the man during the meeting. The second Woolsey had dismissed them, however, he practically ran out of the conference room to keep from saying or doing something stupid. Most days they got along pretty well. Sheppard even prided himself on what a smooth working relationship they had developed over the years. But today had tested the limits of that relationship.

Rounding the corner from the conference room, Sheppard took a moment to just breathe. Leaning against the wall in the shadows he let his head fall back against the wall. He didn't have time to head to a sparring room, and he didn't think Ronon or Teyla had the time for him at the moment, anyway. Besides, he was fairly certain they knew his game, now, and weren't going to be playing along anymore. Lightly banging his head against the wall behind him, he cursed just under his breath. He knew it was time to see Doctor Lindells again when he found himself struggling to not beat the crap out of someone at the beginning of his work day.

 _But he just had to bring up_ that. _If it had been_ anything _else…_ he thought to himself.

"Colonel Sheppard, there you are. May I have a word with you?"

Sheppard just barely managed not to groan out loud at hearing the voice of the man that had just been occupying his thoughts as Mr. Woolsey cut into his train of thought making him curse under his breath. Picking a direction and heading that way, not realizing he was headed right for the gate room and Woolsey's office, he replied, "You just did."

"Colonel, I would appreciate it if you would do me the courtesy of hearing me out before I have to resort to having Doctor Lindells take you off active duty."

 _That_ got his attention. Sheppard had never taken kindly to threats, but coming from Woolsey, it had definite weight. Woolsey didn't usually stoop to open threats. Stopping, he spun to face the man crossing his arms to keep from doing something even stupider than he'd already done in the conference room.

"Fine, you have my undivided attention. Happy now?"

Woolsey heaved a sigh, taking off his glasses and rubbing his forehead as if to rub away the headache that stood before him in the form of the Atlantis military commander. "No, not really. I've tried to be patient, Colonel. And I'm well aware that the operations on your end are not really my concern."

"Good. Glad we agree."

"Colonel…" Woolsey shook his head. "John, I'm not going to pretend I know what you're going through. I know Colonel Lorne was your friend as well as XO. It's obvious to everyone. It's been nine weeks since the funeral and you still haven't settled on a replacement. There are many highly qualified people here in the city. The SGC has been more than accommodating in submitting potentials for you to pick from. You've rejected more than thirty people that may have even been more qualified than…Well, I'll just say they appeared quite competent, experienced, and qualified and you rejected them out of hand.

"I know it's not easy for you, but it's time to move on. At this point, I've decided you will see Doctor Lindells weekly. I want a decision on your replacement for XO by the end of the week. Otherwise I'll have Doctor Lindells take you off active duty indefinitely."

Sheppard's expression had gone from angry, to cold, to utterly neutral all in the span of the seconds it took for Woolsey to say that much. Staring at the man in silence, he waited. When the silence had stretched out until it was obviously uncomfortable to the expedition leader, Sheppard finally broke it.

"Are you finished?"

"Yes."

"Acknowledged and understood," was all Sheppard gave in return as he turned to continue his trek in what he hoped would be the opposite direction of the man he now wanted to pummel.

Behind him he heard a sigh from Woolsey that made him smirk in satisfaction as he rounded the corner into the gate room. He had no idea why he was even there at this point other than to just get away from Woolsey. For one brief moment he toyed with the idea of heading off somewhere through the gate. Anywhere but Atlantis. It had been a long couple of months. Let the damn man and the rest of the city think what they wanted. He hadn't been rejecting potential XO replacements out of hand. It was just that none of them could measure up to the standard Lorne had set. As for Doctor Lindells…he'd already run that gauntlet and come out the other side with flying colors. Experience in the loss of fellow service members wasn't exactly a daily occurrence, but it wasn't uncommon, either. Losing friends was a bit different, but the worlds they hopped to and from continued without them; including Sheppard's world. Woolsey was reading way too much into things.

"Can I help you, sir?"

Chuck's voice from the other side of the console startled him out of his reverie. Heaving a sigh, Sheppard shook his head. "Sorry, Chuck. Just thinking. I'll get out of your hair."

"No problem, Colonel. You're not missing much. Been a pretty quiet day."

"That's always good," Sheppard said, almost wishing for a crisis that would take him off world for a while.

"Yes, sir. I can—"

Whatever suggestion the gate tech was about to voice was cut off as the gate lit up. Frowning slightly, he called out the unscheduled activation. Woolsey, catching the call out just as he was about to enter his office changed his direction.

"Who do we have off-world?" Woolsey asked.

"A few teams, but most of it was just—"

"Receiving Doctor Beckett's IDC!" Chuck called out with a smile, once again proving how well liked the doctor was.

Tapping the crystal for the speaker radio, Sheppard called out, "Heya, Doc. Long time no—"

" _Sorry to interrupt, Colonel, but I have a serious situation. Colonel Lorne is has suffered some sort of episode and is in bad shape. I'm needing—"_

Sheppard could feel the blood draining from his face as his heart stuttered painfully in his chest. Most of what was said next he didn't even hear as he tried to process what Beckett had just said.

Mister Woolsey opened his mouth to say something when Sheppard waved him to silence. "Carson, wait. Repeat the situation."

" _I've got Colonel Lorne here in my house on M eight S five nine one. I've sedated him, but—"_

"Doc, that's impossible," Sheppard cut him off, going from shocked confusion to serious concern for Carson's possible situation in seconds as his mind leapt to various conclusions. "Colonel Lorne died over two months ago."

" _What?"_

"I'm sorry you had to find out this way, Carson," Sheppard continued, putting aside his anger at the idea that this might have been some sick joke. The surprise had been genuine, and he knew Beckett would never be that cruel. "Lorne died during an off-world mission."

Beckett was quiet on the other end, absorbing this. _"When I saw him, I knew something had happened. Possibly head trauma by the reaction and symptoms. But I assure you, Colonel, it is Evan Lorne."_

Woolsey, standing beside Sheppard now shared a look; neither of them seemed to know what to say. Finally Beckett broke the silence.

" _Colonel, he has the scars from M six nine seven three five. I put every stitch in his back myself. It is him and I can prove it later. Even a perfect clone wouldn't have the same scars. Right now I have him sedated, but I need either medical equipment or a team to help me get him back to Atlantis now. I can't help him here with what I've got."_

"Standby," Woolsey called out, motioning for Chuck to cut the audio feed.

Chuck, seeming just as shocked as every other face in the gate room complied.

"Colonel, I know you want this to be true. But we have to take into consideration the—"

"You don't have to remind me why I'm here, sir. I know what we're up against and I'll be damned if they're going to get away with it."

"You suspect a clone?"

"Or bait," Sheppard added. "We have no idea what's on the other side of that gate, but I _know_ it's not Colonel Lorne."

"Very well, what do you suggest?"

Motioning to one of the security teams off to one side of the gate room where they always kept a MALP prepped and ready, he turned on the audio feed. "Carson, we're sending a MALP."

" _What…Colonel, did ye not understand me? I said—"_

"I heard what you said!" Sheppard snapped. "And I'm not sure what you've gotten yourself into, Doc. But either your crazy, mistaken, or coerced. No one is coming through that gate until we know more."

The entire gate room heard the brief string of expletives Beckett unleased as he cut the gate connection so they could dial out. Seconds later they sent the MALP through. The first thing it saw was Beckett's clearly pissed off glare. Crossing his arms and standing back, Beckett waited for the MALP to have a good look around.

" _Are ye satisfied?"_

"Not quite, Doc, but it's a start."

Beckett growled under his breath before saying, _"I'm not asking you to risk city security! I just need some medical equipment or a team and a board to help me get him back to Atlantis."_

"Carson, I know what you think you saw. But there's got to be another explanation," Sheppard started, wracking his brain for any kind of possible alternative; because if it was Evan, he'd done the one thing he swore he would never do. He'd left the man behind. "I saw the explosion myself. I was there. And he was at ground zero."

" _I hear what you're saying, Colonel Sheppard. But I bloody well know that this is Evan Lorne."_

"With all due respect, Doctor—"

" _With all due respect, Mister Woolsey, bugger off. I don't have time to argue. Either send the equipment I need and some medical personnel, or send a security team to help me get him back to Atlantis. I'll not stand here jabbering all day while I have a patient suffering in my care and in need of what I don't have to give."_

Making a decision, Sheppard told him, "Hang tight, Doc. We'll be there in fifteen minutes."

"Colonel! I cannot authorize you to take that risk," Woolsey stated.

"I'm not asking your permission, Mister Woolsey. And no one that goes with me will be under orders. But I _have_ to go."

Knowing he'd lost the battle before it had even begun, Woolsey sighed heavily. "If it is him?"

"Then we bring him home."

"And if it isn't?"

"Then whoever's behind this won't be leaving that planet alive."

The ice in the Colonel's voice concerned Woolsey almost more than the blind anger had. But the determination in those green eyes warned him that this was one line he shouldn't cross if he wanted to ever sleep safe again. Nodding in understanding, he watched as Sheppard hit his radio and left the gate room at a flat run.

~o~o~o~

Not daring to share this information with anyone over the radio, Sheppard made sure he was the first in the locker room after calling Teyla, Rodney, and Ronon to meet him there. Once he was certain they were alone, he stood against the door and relayed what had happened in the gate room. He made it clear he didn't believe it, even for a moment. But they were going to go check it out. He was certain they were walking into some kind of trap and Beckett was caught in the middle. Of course, he gave the standard "You don't have to do this, but…" Ronon rolled his eyes and Teyla cocked an eyebrow at him incredulously. Rodney was surprisingly quiet as they turned to gear up. Sheppard didn't blame him. It was hard to even consider the possibility that they had missed something and not just left a man behind, but a friend. Rodney and Evan had started off pretty rough, but they had wound up as friends of a sort after working together for so long.

Of course, anyone who worked together long enough on Atlantis eventually became friends, if not a sort of adopted family. Which was why Sheppard found himself forcing his hands to stop from shaking as he ran on auto-pilot getting geared up and bringing plenty of extras. He had already convinced himself it was some sort of trap and they were going to have to get Carson out of it. But, if he was wrong…

His gut twisted sickeningly as he viciously tried to crush that thought right out of existence. Thinking back to that day, he just couldn't shake the sick feeling that made him so glad he hadn't eaten that morning.


	4. Chapter 03

**Chapter Three**

Colonel Sheppard remembered that Colonel Lorne had been in a particularly bad mood that day. The reason it was so memorable was because the man was rarely, if ever, in a visibly bad mood. Sheppard had seen him angry in a cold sort of way that came across in a sort of chilly feeling in the air while he sniped you with a smile. He'd seen his XO give a dressing down in a voice so quiet you had to lean forward to hear him, but doing so was like putting your head on a verbal chopping block. He'd even seen his friend so angry his hands shook as he silently walked away to avoid saying or doing something he would later regret. But watching Lorne now in the mission briefing contributing nothing after his initial warning was enough to have Sheppard's undivided attention once Woolsey had dismissed them.

As requested, Lorne remained behind in his seat, a carefully neutral expression on his face. Moving closer, Sheppard sat in the chair beside him.

"What's on your mind, Evan?" Sheppard started, using his first name to signal this conversation was off the books.

"You already know how I feel about this mission," Lorne replied, frowning slightly.

"I heard you. But unless you've got a better idea, we're a go."

"John, this is stupid. Every time you get mixed up with Todd or anything that comes from Todd, it's a bad end. This is his problem, at the moment, not ours."

"But it could be our problem if it's not nipped in the bud."

Lorne sat back crossing his arms. "Why not give Todd the resources to go in and take care of it himself?"

"I don't trust him with that much firepower and our own bag of goodies. Because, he's already said there's no one else he trusts. He wouldn't risk losing his favorite playthings."

"I'm not even going to dignify that with a comment."

"Back to square one, then. Have you got a better idea?"

Lorne thought about it and shook his head. "No, but I still say going in there with a strike team is not the way to go about it. We can do a recon in a Jumper, wait for the Daedalus, then drop a nuke on the place. We don't have to send in a team. Todd can just live without his tech toys."

"And if we get the data drives and get our hands on organic technology to share with him, then we are in control of what he gets. Secondly, with that kind of information we can maybe figure out how to better combat their technology. Thirdly, we might just get lucky and take out enough of their ship production to shut them down."

By this point it was visibly obvious Lorne had tuned him out. Sheppard wasn't saying anything he hadn't already heard before. It was a carrot Todd had dangled in front of them that they couldn't resist, and he knew it. Lorne shook his head and stood up.

"Just remember that when I have to come rescue your ass," he told his CO without a trace of humor.

Despite Lorne's obvious irritation, Sheppard smirked. "Fifty says you get to spend the day babysitting the city."

"A hundred says otherwise," Lorne shot back, his scowl fading slightly.

"Deal."

Lorne glanced at his watch as they headed out of the conference room. "I guess I'll see you in about…five hours."

"Four. Why?"

"Five, because by then I'll be rescuing your team."

"Careful, Colonel. I might accidentally call you Rodney with that attitude."

Lorne just grunted noncommittally.

"Who pissed in your coffee?" Sheppard finally asked as they rounded a corner into a corridor where they were alone.

"I'm going to go wrap up those reports for Woolsey and finish up the duty rosters for next month," was all Lorne gave him before making it clear the conversation was over.

He waved at his XO as he turned his own steps toward the labs to see what Rodney had for him as Lorne headed toward his office. It was obvious Lorne didn't want to talk about whatever had him in an uncharacteristically irritable, if not downright foul, mood. Sheppard sensed it was probably more than just the mission, but Lorne knew he had friends if he wanted to talk. For now he was just going to chalk it up to a rough start to a day and hope the man's mood improved before he found him in a sparring room that evening taking it out on those poor punching bags.

~o~o~o~

Roughly four hours into their mission Colonel Sheppard, Ronon, Teyla, and McKay found themselves waking in very familiar surroundings, unfortunately. The Colonel groaned as his mind caught up with where they were. Now he knew he was going to be out another hundred _and_ he had to listen to Lorne's "I told you so". Damn.

"Anybody hurt?"

"Nope, just getting tired of seeing the inside of Wraith cells," Ronon called back.

Sheppard checked his watch as he reached out to help Teyla to a sitting position. "Don't worry, Lorne had his team on standby. We'll be out of here in an hour or two."

"If they don't suck the life out of us, first," Rodney chimed in right on time.

Sheppard just grunted. Leaning back against the cell wall, he looked around. It was the boredom that always got him in these situations. And, when knowing rescue was coming, it really wasn't a good idea to do something stupid like drawing attention to yourself; which was something he had a tendency to do all too well.

"Did anyone bring cards?" Sheppard finally asked.

~o~o~o~

Meanwhile, Colonel Lorne hadn't bothered to wait the expected four hours for Sheppard's return. A rescue team would be sent in at four hours, unless there was radio contact. Due to the nature of the mission, they had estimated four hours from the time they went through the gate, to their return. At three hours Lorne brought his team through the gate in a cloaked Jumper. He hovered just within visual range of the gate, in case a cloaked Jumper activated it; signaling Colonel Sheppard's exit or radio contact. The radio contact he would overhear and could follow easily back through the gate. On the other hand, if the gate didn't activate by the fifth hour, he'd already have his layout, entry point, and extraction plan in place.

"And he actually took the bet?" Captain Shingleton asked incredulously, when Lorne told them after they'd been sitting there for roughly half an hour.

"Yep," Lorne said, still clearly not his chipper self, but glad he'd come early and prepared.

"What's that, a couple thousand now since last year? What do you do with all the money he winds up paying you?" Captain Cayton asked.

Lorne didn't bother to respond as Captain Keane stepped up to the co-pilot seat. "You're right. I've got all four sub-cutaneous transmitters moving together along…here," he pointed to a spot on the HUD for Lorne to zoom in on.

"And fast," Lorne commented with a frown. Adding the life signs detector to overlay the map and the sub-cutaneous transmitters, it was clear they were being chased through the corridors. "They're running. Damn."

"You think it was a trap?" Shingleton asked.

"Not if the intel is coming from Todd. It's more likely something went wrong. Todd likes using us too much to risk losing his favorite gophers," Lorne replied with a sigh. "We'll wait it out up here. Keane, keep working on that map. We may need a good ingress and alternate extraction route. Cayton, keep monitoring radio chatter."

"The radio's dead, sir," Cayton cut in. "Last I heard was Wraith stunners through Colonel Sheppard's open mic. They didn't make it to the data core."

Lorne hung his head for a moment before sighing heavily. "I'm glad we brought extra C4, then. We'll wait to see where they're taken. If we have any luck at all, they'll be taken to a prison cell."

"And if we're unlucky?" Shingleton asked.

Lorne scowled darkly. "Then I'm doubling what Colonel Sheppard owes me."

~o~o~o~

 _He's early,_ Sheppard thought to himself as he checked his watch, hearing the alarms going off. A minute later he could make out the sound of P90 fire from somewhere nearby. _Way early._

A couple minutes after that there was an explosion that made Sheppard wince. That probably wasn't good. Before he could guess as to what had happened, the three Captains that made up Lorne's team came skidding to a halt around the corner. With the ease of well-practiced skill, they took out the door controls and tossed the four of them the equipment recovered from the wall space just outside the cell room.

"You're early. Where's Colonel Lorne?" Sheppard asked.

"We ran into a bit of a SNAFU, sir. He got cut off, and we had to blow the corridor to prevent getting overrun. He's taking as many as he can in an alternate route to give us some breathing room and circling back around to the Jumper. We're blowing the corridors behind us to keep them from following. He downloaded a map of the place to a handheld. We'll meet him at the Jumper, sir."

Sheppard didn't like the sound of that, but it's not like they could argue. "What's your escape plan, Captain?"

"I've got an alternate route out and back to the Jumper, Colonel," Keane spoke up.

"Lead on, Captain."

~o~o~o~

Elsewhere in the facility, Lorne cursed softly as he ducked into a corner and detonated his latest charge. He just hoped he'd taken out at least some of the warriors that had been chasing him. After the blast cleared and he didn't hear anymore footsteps, he came out from his little nook and looked around. The cursing started up again as he realized that without the map, he was pretty well lost. The mini tablet had slipped right out of his hand when he'd fallen. In this mist, he'd be searching for hours. Worse, he'd fallen down some kind of steep ramp that had dumped him a long ways down from the surface. The ramp had quickly been overrun with warriors and he'd had to blow that, as well.

That sick feeling in the pit of his stomach that had assaulted him the moment he heard that the intel had come from Todd had returned. Yep, Lorne knew he was in deep. Randomly picking a corridor, he jogged down it, hoping to find something that would indicate a route to the surface, fast. He estimated his team would be getting to Sheppard and his team within minutes.

Coming around a corner, Lorne very nearly ran right into some Wraith scientists. Biting back a curse he reflexively started firing before turning and running the opposite direction at a T-junction. Almost before he had a chance to register what had just happened, he found himself in a dead end room. Turning, he fired off some more shots into the mist and then waited. There were no return shots, but he knew it wouldn't be long.

Turning back to the massive column in the center of the large room Lorne suddenly realized what he was looking at. His mind nearly went numb with understanding as his heart sank. Forget the sick feeling in his stomach, he really was screwed this time. Somehow he'd made it to the power plant for this facility. He was nearly dead center of the base several floors underground. There was no way he was going to get out of here, and his team wasn't going to be able to reach him down here.

Listening intently for the sound of approaching warriors, Lorne slung the backpack off his shoulder and dug into it. He still had a pretty fair amount of C4. If he wasn't going to get out of here, he was damn well going to hit them where it hurt.

~o~o~o~

Piling into the Jumper, Sheppard scowled darkly realizing Lorne had not made it back before them. Sealing the door and firing up the Jumper, he got them up in the air, still cloaked, before turning on the Jumper's radio.

"Colonel Lorne, what's your position?"

The first thing they heard was the sound of P90 fire followed by heavy breathing. "Got a bit of a problem, sir. I'm pinned down in the power plant. You're going to have to go without me."

"Like hell we will. We don't—"

"Leave anybody behind. Yeah, I got that the first thousand times, Colonel. But you're not going to—" more P90 fire "be able to get to me. I'm six or seven levels below the surface and pinned down. I've planted the explosives on the generator core."

McKay already had the HUD up and had located Lorne's sub-cutaneous transmitter. He pointed to it unnecessarily as Sheppard and Lorne were talking. Sheppard turned the Jumper in that direction.

"We're on our way."

"Head to the gate, Colonel! You won't be leaving anybody behind."

Sheppard's blood ran cold before it boiled. "Damn it, Lorne! I—"

"It's been an honor, sir. Now get our teams out of here, John! I don't know how big this…Son of a—"

The screams they heard then left no doubt in their mind what was happening. Apparently one of the Wraith had gotten to Lorne and was feeding. The screams filled the crowded confines of the Jumper. Almost as soon as they registered what was happening, there was an explosion and silence on the radio. On the HUD they could see the explosion from the Jumper. The column of fire only went up about twenty meters or so; the bulk of the blast having occurred underground. By the time the Jumper's sensors caught up to the events, Lorne's sub-cutaneous transmitter was no longer showing.

For several seconds they all stared at the screen in stunned silence willing the transmitter signal to miraculously reappear, making all of this some kind of sick joke, or nightmare. When it didn't, they all slumped. Sheppard gave no outward reaction beyond his clenched jaw. Rodney just looked absolutely shocked. Teyla lowered her head and whispered a prayer. Keane, Shingleton, and Cayton, looked visibly pale and shaken, but said nothing. Ronon reached over and squeezed Sheppard's shoulder briefly as the Colonel directed the Jumper toward the gate.


	5. Chapter 04

_**A/N:**_ _Let me preface this chapter with a little backstory._

 _Back on January 11 this year I thought I was pretty much done with all the "heavy duty" writing (aka 50k + stuff). I have over 15,000 pieces of music from around the world in almost a dozen languages. I'm flipping through said database when I accidentally hit on "Getting Away with Murder" by Papa Roach._

 _So Lorne perks up and says, "That's the spirit, ma'am!"_

 _I should have known then he was plotting something as evil as this story. Unfortunately, I underestimated him. Well, from there it went on with about a dozen other pieces of music I never listen to. So, yeah, the soundtrack for this one was unlike anything I've ever seen before and likely never will again._

 _In other words, never assume the nice character is going to stay so nice. lol_

 _Enjoy!_

* * *

 **Chapter Four**

Standing in the gate room waiting for the dialing sequence to be completed, Colonel Sheppard found himself clenching his jaws much as he had that day. Having replayed the entire day in his mind a thousand times since that day, he still could not see how Lorne could have possibly survived. So whomever it was that Beckett had in his house right now, would pay for this sick joke in blood and pain unless there was a damn good explanation. Ready for anything, the four of them stepped through the gate.

All that greeted them was a clearly irritated and impatient Doctor Carson Beckett, his blue eyes blazing. "Took ye long enough. Did you bring the equipment I asked for?" he asked, reaching for the large medical bag Ronon was carrying.

Sheppard, having satisfied himself that they were alone, for the moment finally turned his attention to Beckett. Eyeing the doctor critically for visible signs of abuse that could indicate coercion, he had to admit, the man did seem sincere.

"Yeah, we brought it," he finally answered. "Rodney?"

"Nothing. No ships, no radios, not even a decent EM field."

"Of course there isn't," Beckett said, heading down the path toward the village. "What do you think I am, a bloody idiot?"

"Carson—" McKay started, but was cut off by a clearly pissed off Sheppard.

"Come on, let's find out who this is. Save the chat for later."

Beckett, seeming nearly as pissed off as Sheppard let the comment go and led them toward his little house on the outskirts of the village. Obviously he wasn't going to be able to convince them until he had Lorne in front of them, and probably a whole mess of test results, too. Right now his first priority was to figure out what was causing his suffering and help him. The tests and proof could wait. As they came within sight of the little house, Beckett picked up what he'd started earlier.

"He collapsed from what appeared, initially to be head trauma, but there was nothing visible. I have him sedated, as much to keep him here as to ease the pain. It should keep him out for another hour or so," he explained, reaching up to open the front door. "That should be enough time for—"

The moment the door opened and Beckett stepped inside, a pair of arms came from around the door to grab him from behind. One arm snaked around his chest while the other held a knife to his throat. The dark hair had fallen across the man's face as he growled in Beckett's ear.

"Who are you?" he growled in the doctor's ear, the knife biting deeply into the side of his throat.

"Colonel…"

"Let him go," Sheppard said coldly, his P90 laser sighted right on the man's head.

The man shook the hair out of his eyes to glare at Sheppard. Sheppard felt his heart stutter as he watched the blood drain from that all too familiar face. The man froze as his blue eyes widened in utter shock. A split second later the eyes squeezed shut in obvious pain. When he opened his eyes again the knife pressed even deeper into Beckett's neck, forcing him to tilt his head back as the man dragged him backward toward an open door behind him.

"Shut up, shut up, shut up, shut up…" the man growled over and over.

"I said let him go," Sheppard demanded again. "I won't ask nicely again," he followed up with his P90 to his shoulder, leaving no room for misinterpretation.

Breathing almost spastically, and clearly trembling from head to foot, the man continued to back into the room. Just as he crossed the threshold, he shoved Beckett at them and dropped to the floor in a squat to avoid taking any fire while he kicked the door shut. Not able to get a clear shot around Beckett, Sheppard dropped his P90 to catch the rattled doctor. The sound of shattering glass in the other room told him the man had escaped. Ronon was already out the front door after him as Sheppard paused just long enough to make sure Carson wasn't seriously injured before taking off after Ronon.

Even being no more than three seconds behind Ronon, Sheppard couldn't quite keep up. The man's longer, ground-eating strides had always left him in the dust. But the whine of Ronon's gun firing told Sheppard he was headed in the right direction. A minute later he caught sight of Ronon firing at the figure ahead. This time the shot hit. The shorter man was incredibly fast to have stayed ahead of Ronon. But what shocked Sheppard even more was the fact that the man dodged to the left just a heartbeat too late to avoid being hit. Ronon's stun blast connected almost squarely with his right shoulder. He watched as the guy went down, Ronon never slowing his pace as he caught up. But, before Ronon could even get there, the guy had rolled to his feet and came back up with a knife. Without even hesitating, he launched himself at Ronon in a frenzy.

By the time Sheppard caught up to them, the two were trading blows with eye-wrenching speed. Trying to find an opening to help Ronon proved useless. Instead he stepped out of range and raised his P90.

"Lorne, stop!"

The man hesitated for an eye blink, just long enough to catch sight of Sheppard. Then he disregarded him to focus on his opponent.

"Don't make me shoot you."

"Shut up! Shut up! Shut up!" the man started screaming over and over, still going after Ronon in a mad rage.

Ronon, trying to disarm him without hurting him was struggling to keep himself intact by this point. Totally focused on the fight, he missed the small patch of mud behind him. As he stepped back yet again to avoid the man's blade, his boot skid in the mud forcing him to his knees. He didn't even have a chance to register that fact before the man was tackling him to the ground with the knife raised.

Sheppard had gone cold by this point. He still didn't know if it was Lorne or not. But he did know he wasn't going to let anyone kill his teammate. As the guy came back up for another stab at Ronon underneath him, he let go of his doubt and fired. To the day he died, Colonel Sheppard would never forget the relief he felt that his shot had missed when the man's knife stopped halfway in its arc as he fell sideways clutching his head and screaming incoherently.

Not taking any chances, Sheppard kept his P90 trained on the man while Ronon rolled to his knees ready to start again. Instead, the man seemed to have lost consciousness. Ronon rolled the man over onto his belly and lifted up his shirt in the back to reveal white scars criss-crossing his back.

"It's him," Ronon confirmed, motioning to the whip and suture scars. "I didn't need the scars to tell me. I recognized the fighting style."

"That's impossible," Sheppard said, finally lowering his P90 as he stepped closer to look for himself. "He was evenly matched."

"Enzyme."

Sheppard frowned darkly. He still wasn't going to believe it. Even with Beckett's tests he'd have a hard time believing it. For now, they just needed to get him back to Beckett. Not wanting to take any chances, they took what few weapons they could find and then Ronon hefted him into a fireman's carry. Just as they were coming back within visual range of Carson's house the man began to moan and stir. Stepping up the pace to a jog, they soon caught sight of Teyla waiting for them. By then the man, speaking in Lorne's too familiar voice, was telling something or someone in his head to shut up.

Beckett, waiting impatiently, had cleared the table of debris so they could lay him on it again. The man gave no resistance as his eyes opened partially and he looked around. Even with weeks' worth of beard and hair long enough to touch his shoulders, there was no mistaking that face. Clenching his jaw and keeping his P90 ready, Sheppard backed up enough to let Beckett check him over.

"Son, do you know where you are?"

The man shook his head, the lines of pain clear around his eyes.

"Do you know who I am?"

He shook his head.

"Do you know who you are?"

"Yann."

They all looked at one another. Seeing no sign of dissent in the others, Beckett turned back to him. Making eye contact to gauge the reaction, Beckett told him, "Your name is Evan Lorne. You're—"

Even Sheppard couldn't completely hide the shudder at the scream that man unleased. That sound being the last thing he'd ever heard from his XO and friend, brought back those final moments in the Jumper with blood chilling clarity. Yann made no attempt to fight or escape, but he again held his head screaming. Beckett tried to pull his hands away from his head only to be thrown backward almost across the room and into McKay. It took Sheppard, Ronon, and Teyla just to hold him still enough for Beckett to inject him with something that would sedate him. As the man began to relax, they loosened their grip to let Beckett get back in with a scanner.

"There's a subspace transmitter just below his left shoulder blade," he told them. "But there's no other physical damage."

"Can you get it out?" Ronon asked, a dangerous edge to his voice as he recalled his time as a runner.

"Yes. It shouldn't take long."

"Before you do that, Doc, pack your stuff. Once we remove that transmitter they're going to follow, if they haven't already headed this way. Make it quick."

Carson just nodded as Sheppard turned to the others. "Teyla, watch the gate. Make sure we don't have any uninvited guests. Ronon, go with her. Rodney, help Carson. I'll keep watch out front."

~o~o~o~

Fifteen minutes later, Rodney was monitoring the transmissions from the tracker while Sheppard stood near the open front door watching for signs of pending attack. So far so good. Not taking any chances, Beckett had rolled Yann over and tied his hands under the table hoping to keep him from escaping. At the moment he was semi-conscious and wasn't going to be getting any more sedatives. Beckett had given him enough to keep a horse unconscious. The only thing they could think of was that the enzyme was countering the effects. The best the doctor could do now was a local anesthetic as he pushed up Yann's shirt so Rodney could hold it out of the way while he did a quick cut and removal of the tracker.

"Is that normal?" Sheppard heard Rodney ask as they finally got a good view of Yann's back.

"No," Beckett replied in a distracted voice as he made several quick injections around the location of the implant.

Glancing over his shoulder, Sheppard caught sight of what they were looking at and froze. About one third of the man's back on the left side wasn't covered in the scars from the whipping. Healthy smooth skin now showed where there had once been a mass of shallow scars. Even more disturbing was the newly acquired scar that had been right above his left eye from a mishap in the mess hall involving a couple of rowdy Marines. That had been deep and jagged and required seven sutures. Lifting up his sleeve and looking more closely, they all took note of the missing tattoo. But his right arm, right side, the middle to right of his back, and even the right side of his face was the same as the last time they'd seen him as far as they could tell.

Another mystery for later. Right now they had to get moving fast, before the Wraith showed up. Signaling for Beckett to continue, Sheppard resumed his watch at the door. After a couple of quick cuts and some help from a very disturbed-looking McKay, Beckett managed to get ahold of the tracker and carefully maneuver it out of Yann's back. By this point the man was just aware enough to be whimpering and mumbling something they couldn't understand. Though, he was fairly certain it didn't have anything to do with what Beckett was doing since the local anesthetic seemed to be working and the sounds weren't coinciding with being touched.

Gently pulling the surprisingly large device, Beckett found a piece of organic tissue trailing from it into the incision. Frowning darkly, he carefully set it down. Grabbing the scanner again, he checked a little more closely. Apparently the scanner hadn't picked it up the first time because it was organic and he was scanning specifically for the metal outline of the tracker.

"Oh bugger…" he whispered to himself, seeing where the tracker's organic attachment led.

"I take it that's not supposed to be there?" Sheppard asked, glancing over his shoulder again.

Beckett sighed. "We may have a problem."

"You know I don't like it when you say that, Doc."

By this point McKay had already taken the scanner and connected it to his tablet. Fine tuning the scanner he ran it over Lorne's back again leaving Beckett to explain to the Colonel.

"I noticed the transmitter was a bit larger than normal, but I didn't think they'd go this far," Beckett started.

"Oh no…" Rodney moaned softly at his tablet.

"What?" Sheppard asked, coming over, clearly impatient.

With a sigh, Beckett went over the information on McKay's tablet while explaining. "There's an attachment to the device—"

"Bomb," McKay supplied.

"Bomb?!"

"Yes, Colonel, there's explosives in the tracker. As I was saying, there's some additional tissue attaching it to Colonel Lorne. Thankfully it looks like the tissue itself is not malignant, even though it's organic and not all his tissue. But, we're going to have a problem when I cut the connection."

"It's a dead man's switch," McKay supplied, white-faced before Sheppard could prompt.

Sheppard didn't need time to process this. These days, nothing the Wraith did surprised him anymore. "How big?"

Beckett and McKay shared a look before the scientist answered. "I can't determine what the explosive component is. It might just be big enough to kill him, or it might take out this whole house."

"And it's connected to his heart?"

"No, but close. There's a sensor against the chest wall that I assume is picking up his pulse."

"Rodney, can you tell if it's tracking electrical activity, sound, or vibration?"

"No, it could be any one or all."

"Any idea if there's a delay?"

"There would have to be," Carson answered. "The heart isn't as regular as people would like to think. My guess would be a five second delay at most, three at the least."

Sheppard nodded thoughtfully, a plan already formulating. "Once the…cord…is cut, is it going to hurt him to move him without closing the incision?"

"It shouldn't," Beckett replied, frowning as he began to see where this was going.

"Oh no, no, no, no, no," Rodney cut in, going even paler than Sheppard thought possible. "We're not doing this again!"

" _We_ aren't. _I_ am," Sheppard said, decision made.

"You can't—"

"No time to argue," Sheppard cut him off. "Help Carson with the bags. You two head to the gate. I'm going to cut this thing and throw it out the window," he motioned behind him to the broken window that faced the forest. "I'll carry him to the gate. I'll give you a minute to get far enough away from here, in case I'm wrong."

"Colonel…" Beckett started, clearly ready to argue when he caught the wide-eyed terrified look on McKay's face. He'd heard the story of how they'd lost the real Carson. He knew, too, that that was exactly why Sheppard was doing this and not giving him the opportunity to volunteer. With a sigh, he nodded; the relief in Rodney's face would have been comical, were it not for the fact that Sheppard's relief was just as obvious...and painful. Quickly he showed Sheppard where to cut and what do to after. Grabbing a couple of the bags, and handing McKay the lightest two, they headed out the door and toward the gate.

For a moment McKay stopped in the doorway, looking torn between wanting to argue and wanting to say something typically Rodney in these situations. Before either could say anything, Yann began to stir a bit more, incoherently mumbling something as he realized his hands were tied beneath the table. With a quick nod, McKay ducked out the door, jostling an overloaded Beckett. Sheppard watched them for a moment not wanting to think about how stupid this was.


	6. Chapter 05

**Chapter Five**

"That's it, my pet," she cooed softly in his ear making him shiver in bliss.

Yann had been laid out on a table while a scientist prepped his equipment nearby. Lying on his belly with his arms above his head as she had instructed, he had had no idea what to expect. But the moment the scientist began to cut into his back, he'd clenched his jaw against the pain, not wanting to show weakness to his goddess. Leaning down to whisper in his ear, he reveled in her words and the feel of her breath on his skin.

"Scream for me," she purred.

After a couple of hitched breaths, Yann gave in to the pain of what they were doing to his back. By the feel of it, they had cut him from one side to the other and ripped the rest wide open. Now they were digging deep inside his back, feeling as if they were reaching in to take his still-beating heart in their claw-like hands. Offering up his screams to please his goddess was a small price to pay to see her smile. Despite the darkness encroaching on the edges of his vision, he could still dimly make out her smile.

Taking in the pleasure in those slitted, vibrant yellow eyes he summoned the strength to scream away the darkness drawing ever closer. Reveling in the beauty of the contours of her smiling face and the bared jagged teeth, he screamed. Knowing his agony pleased her, Yann struggled to remain conscious so he could keep screaming…for her. That vibrant red hair fell past her shoulders and across her perfectly outlined breasts as she threw her head back hissing in gratification at his suffering. Gasping, Yann found one last ounce of strength to keep screaming for her. He knew that smile would be burned into his memory forever.

As they continued to work, and he gradually ran out of strength to scream, the pain in his back began to lessen. Forcing his eyes open, afraid he would disappoint her by being unable to scream, Yann stared into the splendorous face of his goddess as she petted his head tenderly.

"Good, Yann, very good. Now you are mine. No matter where you go, I will find you. You can never leave me. If you die, even your body will be destroyed."

"Thank you, Mistress," he whispered, hoarsely.

"Rest now, my pet. I have plans for you."

"Yes, Mistress," he replied, finally letting the darkness take him.

~o~o~o~

Somewhere far away in the darkness beyond the pain, Yann could hear voices. It took him a while to realize they were real voices, and not just the one in his head that was still whispering over and over and over the same litany he'd been chanting or screaming for as long as he could remember. He remembered this pain in his back and chest. But it was different this time. His goddess wasn't there to comfort him. And the voices were familiar, but he couldn't force his eyes open. He was so tired, even the pain was distant. Yann wondered if this is what it felt like to die. A part of him had shriveled up inside at the idea of his goddess not being there for him this time. He wondered if she was taking out the transmitter and throwing him away. He must have failed.

Moaning, Yann tried to make his eyes open, but it was so dark and they were just so far away. Again he tried to force his body to move, but something kept his arms still. She must have forsaken him. He'd displeased his goddess and now she was taking away his transmitter. He was going to get a fate worse than death. She was going to abandon him somewhere, without her presence to keep him alive. There was no life without his goddess, just as there had been no life before his goddess. For her he would happily die as many times as she wished; but he just couldn't bear the thought of her leaving him.

The voices around him continued. He had to make them understand. They couldn't take it out. If they did, he'd be alone and he would die. He couldn't leave her. Even if she threw him away, he couldn't leave his goddess all alone. He had no idea how long he battled the pull of sleep, trying to tell them.

 _Please, no. Please, don't leave me. I'll do anything. Please, mistress! Please!_ he begged silently, since he couldn't make his jaws work.

The last thing he remembered before the darkness took him again was the warmth of a comforting touch on his shoulder and a voice he couldn't make out. He wasn't abandoned. She had come for him.

~o~o~o~

Feeling Lorne's shoulder relaxing under his hand, Sheppard sighed. Part of him still didn't want to believe that this pitiful sight was his friend and the best man he'd ever had the honor of serving with. And the only comfort he could offer were a few sincere words. At least it had worked. Lorne was no longer struggling, though he seemed completely unconscious at this point. He wasn't sure if that was a good sign or not. It didn't matter anymore, since it was time to cut and run…literally.

Taking a deep breath and holding it, Sheppard positioned himself in a direct line to the window and cut. Turning, he slung the device out the open window and shielded Lorne's head and shoulders with his body.

One…

Two…

The explosion was definitely worse than he'd expected. Aside from his ringing ears, the wall had been nearly blown apart; and those were solid logs, he noted. Shaking it off, though, he cut the ropes holding Lorne's wrists together and hefted him into a fireman's carry. Carefully he maneuvered himself and the unconscious Colonel through the door and set off down the road at a jog. In minutes he caught sight of McKay and Beckett, both having stopped to look back anxiously. Irritated, Sheppard just kept jogging with Lorne toward the gate, ignoring their twin looks of relief.

"Radio Ronon and Teyla," Sheppard told them as they tried to keep up. "Have them ready to dial the gate."

"Ronon, Teyla, he's safe. We're on our way. Three minutes. Dial the gate, keep it open," McKay told them.

As soon as Sheppard heard McKay's orders, he realized he'd very nearly forgotten how fast Wraith can dial and then keep a gate busy so no one could escape. Cursing his lapse and blaming it on the distraction of having a friend come back from the dead, he pushed his steps even faster. He could feel Lorne stirring again, and this time he was speaking words Sheppard could make out. And he didn't like them.

"Please, don't leave me, Mistress. I'll do anything, Mistress. Please, give me another chance…" and so on.

Feeling sick at the idea of what might have been done to Lorne, Sheppard scowled darkly and hurried to the gate. There was no way in hell they were going to risk letting the Wraith have him again. Only feet from the watery surface of the event horizon Lorne began to flail blindly, struggling against Sheppard's grip.

"Stop it!" he ground out through gritted teeth. "We're taking you home."

For some reason this seemed to panic the man even more. Still mumbling incoherently, he began to kick as well as flail. Seeing that Sheppard was likely to soon end up on his face, Ronon stepped up and grabbed a fistful of Lorne's hair and pulled his head up until they were eye to eye.

"Stop struggling. Now."

Those confused, glazed blue eyes blinked once before his whole face twisted in rage. With his free arm he swung at Ronon. The larger man easily dodged, but by then Sheppard had had enough. They didn't have time for this. Spinning, he released his grip at just the right moment for Lorne to end up on his back. The shock of the pain opened those blue eyes wide as the wind was knocked out of him. Right on cue, Ronon pointed his gun at Lorne.

"We're taking you home, Colonel," Sheppard reiterated.

"Yann."

"Whatever. We're taking you back. Now get up."

Not giving him a chance to try to fight back again, Sheppard gripped his arm and twisted it up behind him. Turning him around and keeping the arm in a lock, Sheppard nodded for Ronon to keep his gun trained on the crazed Colonel. The man barely winced, but stumbled a bit as he was forced through the gate with the others. Sheppard almost regretted it a few seconds after they stepped through the gate into Atlantis when he began screaming again. His free hand buried itself in his hair and turned into a fist, as if he was trying to rip out the pain, somehow. Releasing his grip, Sheppard stood back as Carson stepped in. Leaning close and trying to pull the man's hands away from his head, Beckett ran the scanner over him again.

Baffled by the results, Carson leaned forward close enough to make Sheppard want to pull him back a safe distance. "What hurts?"

"He's so loud! Shut up! Shut up!" he told them between screams. "Stop it!"

"What is he saying?" Beckett demanded, trying to get the man's arms away from his head before he hurt himself.

"Shut up! No! Stop! Let me go!"

As the requested gurney and restraints arrived, Ronon again stepped in to assist. But his strength with an unknown amount of Wraith enzyme in his system was almost more than they could handle. Before they were able to get him restrained, it had taken all of them holding him down. Once the restraints were in place, however, the man seemed to just fracture. The screams and tears were gone, replaced with a hollow stare into a darkness only he could see, and he was now murmuring something in a whisper that had them all staring at one another.

"Evan Lorne. Lieutenant Colonel, United States Air Force. Five seven three nine eight two one eight. May sixth nineteen seventy. Evan Lorne. Lieutenant Colonel, United States Air Force…"

Once they'd gotten over the shock, Beckett directed his team as they swept him away down a hall toward an isolation room. It was clear in all their pale expressions that any doubt about the man's real identity had been wiped out. The man they had just recovered was Evan Lorne.

~o~o~o~

Hours later Sheppard was still sitting in the observation room above the isolation room. Lorne had stayed virtually catatonic the entire time Beckett was cleaning him up, stitching the wound on his back, and running more tests than the Colonel could even comprehend. Those empty blue eyes made Sheppard shudder, even from way up here. He had even stopped talking. Now he just stared. Sheppard was almost glad he was silent, now. Hearing Lorne's resistance to interrogation responses over and over like that had been disturbing. It seemed that whatever had happened to him, that much of his training was still in there, somewhere.

Sheppard watched as Beckett read yet another printout of test results before scrubbing his face tiredly and leaving the isolation room. He already knew where Beckett was headed, so he moved back away from the windows and sat down. A minute or so later, Beckett entered the observation room. Briefly he glanced down at his patient before turning toward Colonel Sheppard. Crossing his arms and leaning back against the window rail, he seemed as if he was considering what to say; and he didn't like his choices. Finally he seemed to come to a decision.

"Have you told the SGC?"

"No."

"I recommend you don't, for the time being. Or his family."

"That bad?" Sheppard asked, his heart sinking. The darker, more cynical side of him was glad he hadn't bothered to let it really sink in that his friend was back among the living.

"From what I can tell, he's had the enzyme in his system far longer than Ronon. We know the detox process was fatal among some of Ford's men. Given how long it's been in his system, and how much, I can't say he'll survive. The DNA tests prove it is Colonel Lorne. He's no clone." Though Beckett had delivered this in his usual professional voice, the pain behind those blue eyes was clear. Sheppard had known him long enough to know that this was one of the worst parts of his job, but he would do it. And, with Sheppard, he wasn't going to pussyfoot around with it. "Other than the enzyme breaking down in his system, and breaking his body's dependence on it, he's in perfect health. There are some things I can give him to alleviate the symptoms, and I'll do what I can to make him comfortable, but I just don't know."

"Any indication of how he might have survived the explosion?" Sheppard thought he did rather well hiding the gut-twisting dread he felt even just asking the question.

"Not as such," the doctor started hesitantly.

"But you have a theory." It wasn't a question.

"Colonel, you have to understand, what I'm seeing now is after what has been done to him by the Wraith. With the amount of enzyme in his system, there's no doubt they converted him. But there's more—much more—that we can't see because of the repeated healing. If I have to venture a guess, I'd say he didn't survive the explosion; at least not intact. You said his sub-cutaneous transmitter stopped transmitting seconds after the explosion. The entire left side of his body from face to foot is new, healthy tissue. Every scar, tattoo, and even some broken bones in his medical record have completely disappeared and been replaced with healthy tissue that is entirely Evan Lorne."

"So you're saying he was caught in the blast," Sheppard stated the obvious, feeling his stomach untwisting just a fraction.

"I can't prove it, but yes."

"What about the neurological damage? Have you found anything to explain…Yann?" Sheppard asked, feeling out the awkward name.

Carson shook his head before coming over slouch into the chair beside him. "You understand this is not my area of expertise. And, again, there's been so much tissue regeneration it's nearly impossible to tell. There is no physical damage and no indications of head trauma. Given what the Wraith can do to heal someone, it is possible there had been some kind of physical trauma. But, given the circumstances, it's just as likely there wasn't."

"You're saying he's gone mental? Split personality stuff?"

"Perhaps. There's no real way to tell at the moment. What he's about to experience as the enzyme continues to break down is torture in itself. There are too many factors to take into account. All we can do it wait. If he survives, we may be able to find out more."

The Colonel nodded somberly as the two of them sat back to consider their own thoughts.


	7. Chapter 06

**Chapter Six**

As he was carried into the throne room by two giant warriors, Yann was secretly pleased that he would be able to see his goddess again. When they threw him down on the floor, he groveled at her feet happily abasing himself for her. She'd set him a task and he was sure he'd completed it to her satisfaction, but he couldn't quite remember. Not sure if she would crush his skull into the floor or kick his face until every bone was broken again, he smiled as he kissed her boots.

"Now you see? You can never escape us, pet."

"Yes, Mistress. I would never want to leave you, Mistress."

"Good. I will ask one last time. Who are you?"

"I am Yann, Mistress."

"Who were you before?"

Trembling now, knowing what was coming next, Yann couldn't help the tears that ran down his nose where he lay at her feet on his belly. He would displease her with his answer, he knew, but did not know what she was talking about. Swallowing back his tears of frustration, hoping her disappointment wouldn't hurt her too much, he answered, "I do not know what you mean, Mistress. I'm so sorry. There is no life before you that could mean anything to me, Mistress. Please, forgive my failure."

Gently she grabbed a fist full of his hair and pulled him upward until he was standing before her, eyes to the floor. "You have not disappointed me, pet," she cooed. Tenderly she placed her hand on his bare chest, caressing and threatening at the same time. "So long as you remember there is no life before me, and no life without me, you are a good and loyal, pet."

Yann's tears turned to ones of joy at her words, even as he shuddered with the pleasure of her touch. He craved her touch, _needed_ her touch. He didn't dare look her in the eyes without permission, so he battled desire by moaning almost lustfully as he reveled in her touch. Leaning into her palm he gasped as she connected with him in a way no other ever could. Her touch reached to the depths of his being, giving him a sense of rapture unlike anything he could have ever conceived before her.

Somewhere far away a voice whispered inside his head, nearly shattering the rapturous moment. _Evan Lorne. Lieutenant Colonel, United States Air Force. Five seven three…_

He had no idea what an Evan Lorne was, but he cursed it and the voice silently as he gave himself to his goddess fully, losing himself to the euphoria of her touch as she gave him the only life he knew and the only life that mattered.

After an eternity lost in her touch, Yann slowly began to regain awareness of his surroundings. He was lying on the floor at his goddess' feet once again. Glancing down to him looking at her feet, she again made a fist with his hair and pulled him up. This time she lifted his chin until he met her eyes. His heart very nearly pounded out of his chest with joy.

"I have a task for you, pet. There is someone who has defied my wishes…"

Yann gasped, making her pause. The very idea of defying her almost inconceivable to him and a horror to contemplate.

"You understand. As my trusted pet, I want you to find him for me. Hunt him down. Bring me his head. Can you do this for me, pet?"

"Yes, Mistress," he whispered, still captivated by those intense, yellow eyes.

"Good, pet," she purred, petting his hair tenderly.

Those eyes still kept his blue ones locked in place as she focused and planted an image of a man in Yann's mind, making him shudder briefly at the pain.

"Now go, pet. Do not disappointment me."

Briefly Yann sprawled out on the floor at her feet kissing her shoes again. "I would rather die than disappoint you, Mistress. I will not fail you."

~o~o~o~

Going over the latest batch of tests, Beckett stopped to rub his eyes. He'd lost track of time again. It always happened that way. He would get wrapped up in whatever it was he was doing, especially when a patient was involved, and he would just forget to eat and sleep. His stomach growled unhappily as he yawned widely. Setting aside the laptop, he turned on his stool to look at Lorne. He knew he didn't have to be here personally, but it just seemed right. Until they knew what they were dealing with, he wasn't going to relegate this to anyone Lorne didn't know personally. Besides, he knew what it was like to come back from the dead.

The Colonel had been so quiet in the bed behind him, that Carson hadn't noticed that his eyes had closed. Checking the monitors, it seemed like he was sleeping lightly. It must have only just happened within the last few minutes. This was good. His body would need all the strength it could get if there was any chance of surviving the coming ordeal. If anything, he was surprised Lorne hadn't felt the detox symptoms already. It meant that either he still had a ridiculous amount in his system, or he had been so far gone mentally that he hadn't felt it yet. Either one was a scary thought.

Seeing Lorne's lips moving, his tired brain caught up to what was going on. Standing up against the numerous protests of various parts of his body, Beckett stretched. Moving closer, he leaned in to listen to the whisper.

"Evan Lorne. Lieutenant Colonel, United States Air Force. Five seven three nine eight two one eight. May…"

As he leaned close enough to hear, those startled blue eyes suddenly snapped open making him jump slightly. "It's okay, son. You're safe."

For the first time since Beckett had first set eyes on him in the village, those eyes became clear and colder than ice. "Where am I?" he asked in a soft voice that promised death if the wrong answer was given.

Keeping his focus on his face, Carson made note of the fact that the Colonel was subtly testing the restraints in his peripheral vision. "You're in an isolation room. We—"

"Who are you?"

Having expected the confusion, but not the level of hostility, Beckett stood back slightly so as to seem less intimidating. Plastering a smile on his face, he tested out the man's next reaction. "I'm Carson. Don't ye remember me?"

"No. Let me go."

"I can't do that, Colonel."

"Yann."

"Excuse me?"

"My name is Yann."

"Very well, Yann. Do you remember what you were just saying a moment ago?"

"No," he replied flatly, lying.

Beckett nodded slightly. "Well, I'm sure you're confused. But I promise, you're safe."

"Hey, he's awake," Colonel Sheppard called as he entered the isolation room, having come down from the observation room above when he saw Carson talking. "How are you feeling?"

Beckett noticed the deliberate lack of a name in Sheppard's question.

"Why have you brought me here?" Yann asked coldly.

"We brought you home, buddy," Sheppard said lightly, still grinning.

"You have no right to keep me prisoner. Release me."

"Sorry, no can do."

"You can't keep me here!" Yann shouted. "She will come for me!"

"You mean that little subspace transmitter? We already took that out. Good thing, too. It was also a bomb."

"You lie! Release me! Now! Or my goddess will come for you and feed on you all!" he screamed, now openly pulling on the restraints.

"Whoa, calm down," Sheppard told him, losing the smile. "We brought you home. I don't know who you think you are. But they're not coming for you. Your name is not Yann. You're Lieutenant Colonel Evan Lorne. You came to Atlantis in the Pegasus Galaxy from Earth. Ring a bell?"

That got his attention. Those familiar blue eyes widened as the blood drained from his face. His entire body froze as he whispered one word. "Earth…" Then the nearly-lucid moment was over. Those eyes squeezed shut in pain as he shook his head and screamed, "Shut up! Shut up! Shut up! I am Yann! They will come for me! They wouldn't leave me behind! My goddess needs me! She will come!"

He was thrashing and straining against the restraints badly enough the whole gurney was moving, now. As Sheppard stepped up to try to hold the gurney in place, Beckett called for backup and more restraints.

"Mistress! Save me! Don't leave me! They left me behind! No! We don't leave people behind! They didn't leave me!"

Sheppard felt the blood drain from his own face as he hung on to the gurney to keep it from tipping as Lorne thrashed against them. And he knew it was Lorne now, or some combination of the two that he was hearing. He felt his heart stop in his chest and his blood stabbing like ice in his veins. God help him, but he knew he'd left Lorne behind. He'd left his friend in hell, and this is what was left of the man. Suddenly the world and all its chaotic reality came crashing home again when Lorne threw himself sideways so hard the bones in his left arm snapped audibly.

"Let me go! My goddess needs me! She'll come for me! I wasn't left behind! They wouldn't—"

Something inside of him snapping, Sheppard reached out and gripped the man on either side of his head, stopping his thrashing and forcing eye contact. "Your name is Evan Lorne! You're a Lieutenant Colonel in the Air Force! You are my second in command and the executive officer for the Atlantis Expedition!" he roared, inches from Lorne's face.

For a moment something flickered behind those blue eyes as he silently mouthed another word that made Sheppard's heart stutter again. "John…"

"Yeah, that's right," Sheppard smiled again, relaxing his grip slightly. "We're friends. Remember?"

Then the eyes were cold and frantic again. Shaking his head trying to shake off Sheppard's grip, he began thrashing again, but this time he wasn't screaming anything coherent. Whether they were screams of pain or frustration or some combination thereof, they had no idea. But Sheppard kept his grip, since it seemed to be helping to keep the man's upper body mostly pinned. A minute later he released his grip as Beckett and his team stepped in with more restraints.

For several minutes it was all they could do just to get the additional restraints in place. By the time they did, he couldn't move any part of his body more than half an inch. Uncomfortable didn't even begin to describe the looks of it. But when they were finally able to inspect the damage to his arm, Sheppard didn't blame them. The man had literally broken both the bones in his arm just trying to get out of those restraints. They weren't taking any more chances.

As Lorne was reduced to screaming instead of thrashing, he began spitting curses and some of the most vile invectives Sheppard had ever heard anywhere in two galaxies. It was so completely unlike the Evan Lorne that he knew, that he almost believed he was seeing someone else entirely. But he refused to give up in his mind, because he had seen that flicker. Somewhere inside this screaming, tortured man was his friend. That was all he needed to know.

Still feeling a bit shaken, the Colonel watched Beckett and his team work as they injected Lorne with something that was obviously meant to calm him. Whatever it was, it had no effect that he could see. For a while they debated on what to do next, as the broken arm had to be addressed quickly, since it was already swelling. But sedatives didn't work, and it was questionable anesthesia would.

Beckett, no longer feeling or looking tired caught sight of Sheppard standing off to the side. "I'm sorry, Colonel. Don't worry. We'll take care of him. You should go get some rest."

"I know you will, Doc. I'll get out of your way," he said, his eyes still locked on his friend screaming and strapped to a gurney.

Wrestling with all that was now running through his head, Sheppard exited the isolation room less than half aware of his surroundings. With those screams still ringing in his ears, and brief expression of hope he'd seen when Lorne had said his name, he knew sleep was a lost cause.

~o~o~o~

Hours later, at some godforsaken unholy hour of the night, Beckett finally slumped into a real chair. That alone was almost comfortable enough to sleep in, to his exhausted mind; even though he knew in a more alert state this was possibly the most uncomfortable piece of furniture in all of Atlantis. But, right now, he just couldn't bring himself to care. He'd had the chair brought into Lorne's isolation room, knowing he would need it. And he'd been right.

They'd finally managed to slow Lorne down enough using general anesthetic to be able to address his thoroughly broken left arm. By then it had swollen bigger than a football. Beckett marveled that the man hadn't done more damage to the soft tissues. Even with anesthetic he'd still been semi-conscious and whimpering. While walking a very fine line between anesthetizing him and killing him with an overdose, they finally picked one of his calmest moments and quickly went in to reduce the fracture. There was no point in doing a permanent cast, but with his thrashing—and the worst yet to come—they opted for a temporary cast that ran from hand to elbow.

Finally Lorne was back in the isolation room, and Beckett slumped in a chair not far away. As he began to doze off where he sat, he again cracked an eye open to check on his patient. Despite the dangerous amount of anesthesia they'd used, he was fairly certain that the man's current state of sleeping was due more to exhaustion than drugs. Fervently hoping he would be out for several hours, Beckett settled himself in the chair in a way only the talented or very experienced could manage without falling, and let himself drift off.


	8. Chapter 07

**Chapter Seven**

"How is he?" Mister Woolsey asked, quietly, coming up behind Sheppard in the observation room.

Colonel Sheppard, still haunting the observation room early the next morning just grunted in response. There was no need for the pencil pusher to ask such a stupid question. They could both clearly hear Lorne's insane ravings and screams from the isolation room below them. At some point in the night, after the surgery to reduce the fracture in his arm, he'd woken in the early stages of detox. Sheppard, sleeping in the observation room above, had woken also.

For the last several hours Lorne had alternated between crying and begging to return to his goddess; who, by this point, they knew beyond a shadow of a doubt was the Wraith queen that had converted him, and screaming his resistance to interrogation response over and over again. He seemed totally disconnected from reality at this point as Beckett hovered nearby watching a battery of monitors. As the hours passed, Carson's already haggard face looked more and more grim with each time he checked the test results and monitor readings. All attempts to get Lorne to calm down even the slightest only resulted in further thrashing and screaming; some of those times being just constant gut-wrenching screams of agony. Whether that was remembered agony or current from the detox was anyone's guess.

Mister Woolsey's face seemed to pale behind his glasses as he took in the scene below. Not realizing Colonel Sheppard was watching him out of the corner of his eyes, Sheppard caught sight of a profound sadness as the man's expression changed drastically for just a moment before he recovered himself. With a deep breath he shook off whatever he had been thinking and turned to face Sheppard.

"We have a scheduled dial-in in two hours. What is your decision?"

"About telling his family?"

"And the SGC, yes."

Sheppard wrestled with his thoughts for a moment, but the unrelenting screams from below convinced him that no matter what he wanted, his friend would not have wanted his sister to have to suffer his loss a second time. Hell, he wasn't even sure _he_ could. Probably the only thing that would make it any easier is the fact that he hadn't yet had a chance to see more than a glimpse of the real Lorne under the madness of Yann. The only thing he was certain of was that if Lorne didn't survived the detox, there was no point in notifying anyone.

Finally Sheppard shook his head. "No. Carson isn't sure he's even going to survive the detox. If he does, then we'll notify the SGC and his family."

The sudden change in noise from the isolation room below had them both turning their attention back to Lorne and Beckett before Woolsey could respond. Again Sheppard saw out of the corner of his eye as the expedition leader paled considerably, his knuckles going white as he unconsciously gripped the railing between them and the glass. Curious about this response, he filed it away for a later time. Below them Beckett had gone from watching the monitors to calling for something on his radio as he watched Lorne more closely. By the looks of it, Lorne was having a seizure now. Even the screaming had stopped.

For a few more minutes, Woolsey and Sheppard watch in silence until Beckett sighed and slumped back into his chair with relief. The exhaustion was clear on his face even from up there.

"He needs to take a break or he won't be any good to anyone," Woolsey muttered, not quite angrily, finally relaxing his grip on the rail.

"You wanna go tell him that?"

For a split second Woolsey's eyes widened and he got even paler, if that was possible, at the idea of going down there. Wrapping his professionalism and composure around himself like a cloak, the man brought his head up and stared down his nose at the Colonel. "I'm sure Doctor Beckett knows what he's doing."

With that the expedition leader turned and practically fled the room. Just before he got to the door, however, Sheppard finally gave in to his curiosity.

"Mister Woolsey."

"Yes, Colonel?" he said, turning back to face him from the doorway, still looking like he wanted to run.

"Who was it?"

Woolsey opened his mouth to deny what Sheppard was implying, but thought better of it. Closing his mouth with a sigh, he stepped back in to the room and toward the observation windows. "Would it surprise you to know that I am, in fact human, and once had a rather misspent youth?"

"Actually, yeah."

Woolsey nodded, still not able to face the Colonel whose green eyes were boring holes in the side of his head with curiosity. "Well, I was the wild one of the family. In my early teens I did some things I'm not proud of and dragged my elder brother into the mix."

For a few seconds, it seemed that was where it was going to end. But, after a moment digging through some clearly painful memories, he again returned to the present and wrapped his cloak of dignity and professionalism around himself as he turned to face Sheppard.

"I got us into cocaine. I got out. Painfully, but I did. But not until my brother had overdosed and died."

Not really sure what to say to that, Sheppard nodded. "Sorry."

"Don't be. I converted the cravings into the man I am today. I turned to my studies, instead. But, needless to say, I have some inkling of what Colonel Lorne is suffering, even if his is far worse. I agree with your assessment. There is no need to inflict additional suffering on his family if he doesn't survive."

"Thank you."

"Now, if you'll excuse me, Colonel, I need to prepare for the scheduled dial-in. Please see to your temporary replacement second in command while you are designating someone to cover for you. Your team is on stand-down until the current issue with Colonel Lorne is resolved," he advised the Colonel now walking far more calmly toward the door.

"Will do," Sheppard replied, distracted once again by the goings on in the isolation room below. Somewhere in the back of his mind he noted Woolsey's use of the word temporary and very nearly smiled.

~o~o~o~

For three days various friends and teammates came to watch Colonel Lorne from the observation room. Sheppard lost count somewhere during the first day. None of them stayed very long and he didn't blame them. The figure they saw in the isolation room below not only didn't sound anything like the Evan Lorne they had known, but with the long hair and unshaven face, he didn't really look like him, either. Besides, it was not pleasant to watch. Yann screamed threats and curses or begged to return to his goddess. Lorne screamed wordlessly in pain or screamed his R2I response over and over again. Interspersed were violent seizures, arrhythmia, vomiting, and tachycardia. The only times he seemed to quiet even slightly was when he was too exhausted to do more than whimper, whine, and moan.

Beckett had only left the room a handful of times, and never for more than an hour or two at a time as one day became two, and then three. Sheppard planted himself in the observation room above them, also not leaving unless absolutely necessary. Woolsey, good as his word, left the Colonel alone. Sheppard had sent word on his designated cover for the time being and left it at that. The two most notably absent presences had been Rodney and Ronon. Sheppard hadn't been here to see McKay's withdrawals, but had heard enough to imagine how painful it had been. He had been here to see Ronon's withdrawals, and that had given him enough to imagine what the scientist had gone through as well. He didn't blame them for not wanting to come around, even just to check on him.

Teyla had come a few times, minus Torren, to check on Sheppard, but had been intuitive enough not to try to make conversation. She would just sit there in a chair beside him in silence, giving that quiet support she was so good at without even trying. A couple of times she did try to coax him to join them in the mess hall for a meal, but he had little appetite after watching the events going on in the isolation room below. Just as quietly as she had come, she would leave, as if understanding and accepting this as perfectly normal under the circumstances.

Though Beckett was aware of Sheppard's constant presence in the room above, he did little more than glance up every once in a while as if to confirm he was still there. At those points he would shake his head, as if to signal to the Colonel that there was no improvement or no end in sight. Even those stopped by the third day as Beckett seemed to be in a near constant battle to keep the man alive. It was as if Lorne's nervous system was having a meltdown. The last of the enzyme was out of his system almost fourteen hours ago. Everything that had happened since was a result of withdrawals. His body was reacting to the lack of enzyme in a violent way.

Toward the end of the third day, sometime before sunset, Lorne had crashed. Beckett, already having a team on standby, was ready. But, even for all his preparedness, it was a fight they almost didn't win. Sheppard, unconsciously gripping the rail as he leaned closer to the glass, counting the seconds, felt as if the world around them had stopped. He felt as if he was suffocating and his heart stuttering as he watched. When three minutes turned into four he could see the doubtful and disappointed look on the faces of Beckett's staff. Beckett continued working without hesitation or doubt, calm as ever, ignoring the looks his staff gave him as he continued to bark out orders. Not a one of them dared to attempt to stop him.

At five minutes and twenty-two seconds Sheppard felt his own heart leap in his chest making him gasp as they managed to bring Lorne back from the brink. He knew what that amount of time without a pulse meant. He also recalled with painful clarity the last time Lorne had been in a coma from cardiac arrest.* That recovery almost hadn't happened. Shoving those memories aside, he focused on what was going on in the isolation room. A collective sigh of relief had gone up when they finally managed to get a steady pulse again. But none of them looked happy, even Carson. In their minds the battle wasn't even half over yet.

Colonel Sheppard continued to watch for a little while longer until Beckett dismissed his staff. Knowing how little rest the doctor had had since this all began, Sheppard was not surprised when Carson swayed and had to lean on the back of his chair before he could come around and sit down in it instead of falling down. Shaking his head, the Colonel headed out of the observation room and down to the isolation room. By the time he entered the isolation room, Beckett had planted his elbows on his knees and buried his face in his hands. His unshaven appearance combined with the pallor and bags under his eyes only served to further enhance the half-dead look he seemed to be going for.

Beckett must have literally fallen asleep in this position since Sheppard not only called to him twice, but had to gently shake him by the shoulder before he would respond. Even then, the confusion and exhaustion were clear in those distant blue eyes.

"Colonel? Come for an update?"

"Nope. I've come to relieve you. I may not be able to order you around, but I can give you back the same words you've given me in the past," he replied with a slight smirk.

Beckett didn't even bother to argue. He knew he was beyond his limits at this point. "I'll have Doctor Warren on standby. I assume you're wanting this chair, then?" Carson groaned slightly as he forced his body out of the chair and into a somewhat unsteady standing position.

"Yeah, I'm not waiting this time," Sheppard told him, referring to the last time Lorne had been in a coma and wasn't expected to survive. At that time he'd avoided Lorne completely until they'd taken him off all life support per his directive. Then he'd sat there waiting for the man to die, hoping it would all be over soon. This time Sheppard knew better.

For a moment, Carson's expression went from exhausted to sad. "Colonel—"

"Don't, Doc," Sheppard said, deliberately cutting of what he didn't want to hear. "Just, go on. Get some rest and food. We'll talk later."

The sadness still hadn't left those blue eyes as Beckett nodded and shuffled out of the room. Sheppard, determined to see this through as he had once before, planted himself in the chair to wait and watch.

~o~o~o~

Some seven hours or so later, Beckett made a reappearance in the isolation room bearing a second chair and a loaded dinner tray. The tray he gave to Sheppard with a glare that left no doubt what would happen if he didn't eat it. The chair he set beside the Colonel facing the opposite direction so he could see the equipment and use his laptop. A moment later he disappeared to retrieve a cup of coffee he'd had to leave outside when he picked up a chair. He nodded in satisfaction as Sheppard took a bite of his food with an exaggerated gesture to ensure Beckett was watching.

For a while the only sounds in the room came from the equipment and Sheppard slowly picking at his food with little enthusiasm. Still, Carson didn't have the heart to give him too much of a hard time over it. As Sheppard's gaze continued to come back to the still form of Lorne in the bed surrounded by more equipment than Sheppard had ever seen in one place before, he eventually gave up pretending to be interested in the tray and set it on the floor beside him. Beckett noted the fact that he'd eaten less than half, but again said nothing about it. He knew he would eventually get Sheppard to eat a decent meal and maybe even get some sleep, once they had a definitive answer on Colonel Lorne's recovery…or lack thereof.

"How are ye holding up, John?" Carson finally asked, quietly.

Sheppard just shrugged, initially. "I should be asking you the same question."

Beckett quirked a grin for a moment and shook his head as he again sipped his coffee. They both knew how he felt about his job. It wasn't a job, in the first place. Secondly, once Carson declared a friend a patient, he wasn't going to budge until they were back on their feet and ready to escape his clutches at almost any cost. It was one of those traits that made him both endearing and annoying at the same time.

Going over the readings and results from numerous checks on Lorne's condition by his staff while he was sleeping, Beckett just managed to not sigh unhappily.

"Not good?" Sheppard asked, beside him, still staring at Lorne.

Scowling at the side of Sheppard's head, he silently cursed the fact that he never could remember to hide his expression. But, he knew they were going to have to discuss it sooner or later. Might as well be now. "Aside from the obvious stress to his body, I'm suspecting a greater degree of neurological damage than the cardiac arrest would account for. But I have no indication of it, yet. And, as long as he's in a coma, I won't be able to find out for certain. If he comes out of it, I'll know more."

"You think the enzyme might have…what…damaged his brain on top of whatever was done to him, and now cardiac arrest, too?"

Beckett nodded, his own eyes distant as they strayed toward the still figure still in multiple sets of restraints. To his surprise, though, Sheppard smiled.

"Then nothing's changed."

"Excuse me?"

"This is Evan we're talking about. He's too damn stubborn to let a little thing like, 'You're supposed to be a vegetable' stop him."

Beckett smiled briefly. It was all too true. Though Sheppard would never admit it, the two of them were more alike than they realized. Lorne may have been more by-the-book when he first got here, but Sheppard's influence had loosened him up considerably. He was still a much calmer, soft-spoken person than one would expect in the military, but Colonel Lorne seemed to have picked up some of Sheppard's best and worst traits over the years. In return, he had a way of keeping Sheppard from haring off into some of the most insane situations they'd ever come across. As a result, the two had become more like brothers than friends, even.

Beckett just hoped Sheppard would hold on to that faith in his friend in the days ahead. They would likely all need it.

 _*coma from cardiac arrest: See Vigil_


	9. Chapter 08

**Chapter Eight**

From somewhere far away he could hear voices. In the darkness where he now drifted feeling warm and free of pain, he could just barely hear the voices. There were several. They came and went, but were always so soft he couldn't make them out. This was the first time he could remember actually being aware of them. Even stranger was the realization that this was the first time he could remember being aware of himself as a person since…

He couldn't remember. For that matter, he didn't know who he was, just that he was a person. He'd been alive, once. He wasn't even sure if he still was. All he knew now was the never ending darkness, and it was comforting. He was almost surprised to realize he knew what pain was. Yes, he knew it very well. There was no pain here. It was lonely, but somehow he knew lonely was safe, too.

But the voices…

He knew them. Even as something tried to tickle his thoughts, he shoved it away. It didn't matter. He knew those voices, but he didn't want to remember. A horrible feeling deep inside him knew that if he remembered, then he would have to remember the pain, too. He didn't want the pain anymore. He'd given it away. He gave up his life. He'd retreated to this place, the darkness.

But the voices…

They were human. They weren't the Wraith voices he'd grown accustomed to. And they were so familiar. Maybe if he just listened a little...

 _It's not impossible…Still there…With time he…Give up until…_

"No!" a sharp, familiar voice commanded from right behind him.

Turning, he found himself confronting someone eerily familiar, but scruffy. The beard and hair were unkempt, the clothes were ragged and torn. Even as he took in all of this, he immediately thought. _Evan Lorne. Lieutenant Colonel, United—_

Shaking his head and shoving that aside, he asked, "Who are you?"

"You."

 _States Air Force. Five seven—_

"What?"

"You created me. I am Yann."

 _Three nine eight two one—_

"No. What the hell?"

"You were supposed to die."

 _eight. May sixth—_

He shook his head. This was crazy. "No."

 _Nineteen seventy. Evan—_

"Just die already!" the man screamed at him. "You were supposed to die! This is _my_ life, now! It belongs to my goddess!"

"What? No. What the hell is going on? Where…" His confusion was complete. But the one thing he was certain of is that the man he faced wasn't him. Whatever the hell it, or he, was, he didn't know. And, at the moment, it didn't matter.

 _Lorne. Lieutenant—_

"—Colonel, United States Air Force. Five seven three—"

Before he could finish the man's face twisted in rage as he ran at him with a knife bared. Stepping aside, he gripped the man's wrist and twisted, flipping him to the ground as the bones in his arm snapped audibly. The man screamed in pain, briefly, before rolling away and cradling his left arm to his chest. In that moment he could have retaliated in any way he wanted, since Lorne was in a state of frozen shock. The moment he'd touched Yann, he remembered it all. His name, his family, his childhood, Atlantis, and…yes, even the fact that he was supposed to die and didn't. No…he had died. He just hadn't stayed dead. He…the pain…he had been tortured.

Still numb with shock and realization, Lorne watched the other man stumble away. Somehow he knew this wasn't over. But he didn't have time to deal with that. Now he recognized the voices. John and Carson. He had to pay attention. He had to let them know he was still in here, that he hadn't died. Terrified of the gray that began to push away the darkness, but knowing it was the only way back, he focused on those voices.

~o~o~o~

"To be quite honest, I'm amazed he's survived this long, Mister Woolsey," Doctor Beckett was explaining in the conference room some four days after Colonel Lorne had gone into a coma.

"But he is responsive?" Woolsey pressed.

"He's coming out of the coma," Colonel Sheppard added, his irritation showing through his own exhaustion at this point.

"So he will survive?" Woolsey asked for the third time, his own patience growing thin.

Beckett and Sheppard shared a look. What passed between them Woolsey could only guess at. But they'd been virtually inseparable from Colonel Lorne since they'd brought him back. Finally they turned back to him, nodding; neither of them looking very pleased with the situation. And it was no wonder, since Woolsey was now wrestling with how long he should continue to delay notifying the SGC. Delaying a week already had not sat well with him; but he'd seen Lorne for himself and knew what may happen. Now that it seemed the man would survive, whatever neurological damage they had yet to diagnose, he felt it was time to take action.

Seeing these things on his face, Beckett again stated his case. "Just a few more days. A week, at most, and I will have more answers for you. Right now all I can tell you is that it appears he will survive and he is responsive."

"I understand that, Doctor. But having someone declared dead, and then have him reappear months later addicted to Wraith enzyme and sporting a new personality is a security risk no one wants to tempt," Woolsey told him again in a chilly voice. "Now, unless either of you can give me something as to why I shouldn't inform the SGC and quite possibly get him sent to a facility better equipped to handle his case, I see no reason to delay further."

Again Sheppard and Beckett shared a look. Carson began to look helpless. He knew reason when he heard it, no matter what his own personal feelings about it may be. Sheppard, on the other hand, had the entire military contingent to run, with no real backup at the moment. This was the time when he almost wished he'd established an XO officially, so he could step out for a while. Because if Lorne was being shipped off to Earth, Sheppard was going with him until they knew what was to become of him.

Sheppard's lips thinned as Beckett's gaze seemed to convey something the Colonel didn't agree with. Turning his attention back to the expedition leader, he decided to play his last card.

"Remember that talk we had in the observation room, Mister Woolsey?"

"Of course," he replied warily. "Why?"

"Where were you when it happened? Were you alone in some hospital?"

Ignoring the doctor's curious looks, Woolsey threw Sheppard a warning glare. "You've made your point. But what purpose would it serve in the case of Colonel Lorne?"

"He's been believed dead for months. If our guess is correct, he was tortured into conversion. Then he's brought home and essentially tortured more by detox and withdrawal. The least he deserves is some familiar faces, friends, to be with him while he's going through initial recovery."

"He's right, Mister Woolsey," Beckett agreed. "His initial recovery and assessment of neurological damages may be considerably easier if he's in familiar surroundings with familiar people."

"And the moment you tell the SGC of his current circumstances, they'll have him shipped out," Sheppard followed.

Woolsey seemed to consider this. His eyes bored into the tabletop as he wrestled with himself. Finally he turned back to Beckett. "You believe his initial recovery and assessment will be hindered if we move him now. Meaning he has to stay in Atlantis under observation until such time as he is deemed able to return to Earth." Neither of these were questions, but more like suggestions.

It didn't matter to Beckett. He knew Woolsey was giving him a way out, and he jumped on it. "Yes."

"Very well, then," Mister Woolsey said, standing up. "Keep me updated on his progress."

"Yes, sir," Sheppard said, just barely refraining from smiling. Until that moment, he hadn't really believed Woolsey would give in on something like this. Turning back to Beckett, they shared a relieved glance before heading out of the conference room behind Woolsey.

~o~o~o~

As Colonel Lorne stirred for the third time that day, Sheppard again stood to see if he would wake fully, or if he was just shifting uncomfortably under the restraints. This time he found himself staring down into confused blue eyes looking everywhere. But, unlike when he'd been coming out of the coma, there was a clear sense of confusion and furrowed brow. He was aware and thinking.

"Sleeping beauty awakens," Sheppard quipped, leaning down a bit to ensure he was in Lorne's field of vision. "You with us this time?"

"Evan Lorne. Lieutenant Colonel, United States Air Force. Five—" Lorne started again, making Sheppard sigh heavily and turn away.

"Same as before, Doc," he called over his shoulder.

"Not quite," Carson replied, distracted by something on his laptop. "I have an idea." Coming over he plastered on a smile, despite his growing exhaustion. "Welcome back, Colonel. Tell me your first name."

"Evan."

"Hey! Welcome back, Evan!" Sheppard started, excitedly before Beckett motioned him to silence.

Holding up two fingers, Carson asked, "How many fingers am I holding up?"

"Evan Lorne. Lieutenant—"

"That's enough, Evan," Carson said gently. Holding up three fingers he said, "Tell me how many fingers I'm holding up."

"Three."

 _Oh crap,_ Sheppard thought to himself, finally understanding.

"Very good. As Colonel Sheppard said, welcome back. Don't worry. You're confused right now, but things will begin to clear up in time. For now, just rest. If you can speak, feel free to do so. We'll be back with some food in a moment." Taking Sheppard by the arm, Beckett led him out of the isolation room.

"Interrogation responses," Sheppard said, before Beckett could even start.

"Aye, if my guess is correct, he's still very confused on where he is and running on a sort of auto-pilot. His brain has determined that anything phrased as a question should be given the standard response he was taught as a sort of reflex. On the other hand, anything phrased as a command will force him to think before reacting. This is a good sign. It means his confusion, sluggish responses, and automatic replies should fade as he begins to understand more and more of what is going on around him."

Until that moment, Sheppard hadn't realized how tense he was. It had been in the back of his mind from the start that there may have been permanent brain damage done and he was no longer the Evan Lorne they all knew. Hearing this at least gave him some hope.

"So you think it's just temporary?"

"Yes. Think of it as a sort of sleep walking. He's emerged from the coma and moving. His senses are keeping up, but his mind is elsewhere. As his mind wakes up, we'll begin to see more intelligent responses."

"But you still think there may have been some damage." It wasn't a question.

"We will still need to assess the damage that has been done, and there is no doubt he's been damaged. Whether it's psychological or physical remains to be seen."

Sheppard nodded, remembering all too clearly the mental state of the man they had brought through the gate. All he could do was hope what Beckett found wasn't as bad as they all feared.

~o~o~o~

After eating halfheartedly some of the mushy, soft foods Beckett had brought him, Lorne dozed off again. Sheppard sat by quietly, as ever, playing on his DS. Beckett had continued to pour over the information on his laptop for whatever other projects he'd been working on in his lab. This time neither of them noticed when Lorne first woke up. Groggy and confused, he tried to blink the sleep out of his eyes before catching sight of his bedside companion.

"Colonel?" he croaked with a too dry throat.

The reaction was instantaneous, Sheppard very nearly dropped his DS when his head flew up to find himself only a couple feet away from a pair of confused, blue eyes.

"Morning, sunshine," he said with a smile. "What's your name?"

"Evan Lorne," he said after a moment of confusion as Beckett brought over a cup of water.

"And who am I?" Beckett asked, after he'd given the Colonel a few sips of water through a bent straw.

"Carson Beckett."

"Very good. Now, who is that?" he asked pointing toward Sheppard.

Lorne shook his head slightly before grinning, "The Cursed Colonel. But others call him John Sheppard."

"Snarky," Beckett commented. "Welcome back Colonel."

"Do I want to know why I'm restrained in an isolation room?"

Beckett and Sheppard gave nearly identical frowns of concern before sharing a look. The doctor gave Sheppard a brief hand gesture to motion him to silence.

"Colonel, what is the last thing you remember?"

Lorne relaxed a bit as he thought about this. After a few seconds he came back with, "I'm not sure. Everything's kind of…fuzzy."

Beckett relaxed considerably at this. "That's alright, son. Don't worry about it right now. It will all come back to you in time. For now, just relax."

"I think there's something about Wraith. Was I taken by Wraith?" he asked them.

"Carson's right," Sheppard said, seeing the edge of panic in those blue eyes, though Lorne's face gave none of it away. "Don't worry about it right now. For now, welcome back."

"Yes, sir," Lorne replied, dubiously. "Am I injured?"

"Aside from a broken arm, there's no serious damage. You're likely to be in a world of hurt for a few days, though," Beckett told him, thinking about all the strain to his muscles over the past week.

"Then would it be too much to ask for a shower and some food, Doc?"

Beckett beamed a smile, glad to hear the old Lorne coming out. "I'll get you some scrubs. You can use the shower here in the isolation room. I'd like to keep you here under observation for a few more days. I'll let Colonel Sheppard help you out of those restraints."

"Thanks, Doc."

Sheppard didn't even wait for Beckett to start walking away before starting to undo the numerous buckles on all the restraints.

"So, you still haven't told me why the restraints, sir. And, by the feel of it, there's a few more than usual."

Sheppard paused for a moment, considering how much he should tell the Colonel. Finally he settled on one word that would pretty much sum it all up for him pretty clearly. "Enzyme."

"Oh…"

"Yeah, which is why Carson said you're going to be hurting for a while. The withdrawals were a bit…unpleasant."

"You don't say," Lorne said with a grunt, flexing his right arm and torso to test if he could sit up.

"That souvenir on your left arm was a compliment of the enzyme. You broke your own arm trying to get out of the first set of restraints," Sheppard told him, starting on the lower restraints. "Don't sit up until I can catch you. If you fall off this gurney and break the other arm, Carson will put me in a bed next to you."

Before Lorne had a chance to attempt it, though, Beckett returned with a fresh pair of scrubs and a towel. Setting them aside, he carefully walked Lorne through sitting up slowly until he was perched on the edge of the bed. Once the dizziness passed, Lorne reached up to grab a lock of the hair that now fell across his face to his chin.

"How long was I gone?" he asked, his face paler now.

"A while," Sheppard jumped it. "We'll talk about that later. Right now, shower, food, and rest."

Lorne nodded, slowly, feeling the beard on his face with a distasteful grimace.

"I'll call in Nurse Mooney," Beckett told him, pointing to the hair and beard. "He'll take care of that in a jiffy."

"Thanks, Doc," Lorne said with a grunt, sliding off the bed and testing his legs. They were shaky and sore, but they would hold. He waited patiently while Beckett wrapped his casted arm in plastic to keep it dry. He caught the two of them sharing a look behind his back that involved Sheppard nodding toward the bathroom and shower on the far side of the isolation room. Obviously privacy wasn't something he'd be seeing much of for the time being.

Suddenly part of him didn't want to remember what the hell had happened.


	10. Chapter 09

**Chapter Nine**

Sheppard waited outside the bathroom while Lorne managed to strip down, shower, and redress himself without help, thankfully. He listened the entire time for anything unusual, and was glad to hear only a few grunts of pain and a handful of muttered curses out of his friend. His hair combed back and looking much more alert, Evan finally emerged from the bathroom.

"I haven't look this rough since high school. And, at least then I had the excuse of the big hair in the eighties," he told Sheppard with some of his former humor.

"Nah, wrong decade," Sheppard threw back. "You definitely are going more nineties grunge."

Lorne groaned, as they walked back toward the gurney where a dinner tray now sat. "I'm not sure that's any better."

Sheppard just chuckled, looking around for Beckett. Not seeing him, he held the tray while Lorne managed to get situated on the gurney. Both of them eyed the mushy muck on the tray with obvious disappointment.

"Well, Carson probably thinks your stomach isn't ready for anything more solid, yet. It's been about a week since you've eaten, that I know of."

Lorne's eyebrows went up briefly as he considered this. Poking at his tray with little enthusiasm, he took a few bites, grimacing at each one. When his wet hair fell in front of his face again, he paused, putting down the spoon. Finally he shook the hair out of his face, those blue eyes locking on his commanding officer in a way that left no wriggle room.

"MIA or KIA?"

Sheppard shifted uncomfortably. He knew this question was coming sooner rather than later. After all, Lorne did have a family back on Earth to consider. "KIA."

Lorne set aside his tray, appetite gone, as he absorbed this information. As Sheppard opened his mouth to say something, Beckett finally made a reappearance with Nurse Mooney in tow. The heavy atmosphere that had developed evaporated as quickly as it had begun. Nurse Mooney was a character, and everyone loved to watch him work. He had all the energy and enthusiasm of a five year old. In minutes he had Lorne in a chair and was dancing around him clippers and a steady stream of chatter. Sheppard and Beckett just sat back and watched, with no small amount of amusement.

After Mooney had cleaned up and left, the three of them shared a look and nearly burst out laughing. The man really was something to see. For his part, Sheppard was just glad to see his friend looking more like the man he'd known. Lorne, a quiet smirk on his face instead of giving in to the chuckles the other two had, stood and stretched every inch of his body, relishing in the sense of freedom he felt; even if there were muscles hurting that he didn't know existed.

"So, Doc, are you going to tell me what happened, or am I going to have to remember on my own?" he finally asked, sitting on the edge of the bed; his previous dark mood gone, but all seriousness now.

"For the most part, you're going to have to remember on your own. For what has happened since we found you…" Heaving a sigh, Beckett took a seat in the chair he'd brought closer to the gurney. "Your system was badly flooded with Wraith enzyme. As you are aware, the detox and withdrawals are…rough, on the body. Yours was particularly bad."

"Because of how long it had been in my system," Lorne surmised.

Beckett nodded, glancing at Sheppard for a moment. "Aye, I wasn't sure you would survive. At one point we nearly lost you. Following that, you were in a coma for several days. The lack of memory can be attributed to many things, at this point. It's really too early to tell."

"But we're going to have Doctor Lindells come in and give you an evaluation when you feel up to it," Sheppard felt the need to add.

"What about my team? Did they make it out?"

"They're fine. You were the only one…lost," Sheppard told him, stumbling over the appropriate word.

"Does my family know?"

Again the two of them shared a look that stirred something inside Lorne he didn't like before Sheppard answered. "No. We weren't sure you would survive, and Mister Woolsey gave us time to find out."

"So the SGC doesn't know, either?"

They both shook their heads. The quiet as Lorne absorbed this was thick. "How long was I gone?"

"Almost three months," Sheppard replied, and to hell with Beckett's advice. The man deserved to know.

Lorne heaved a sigh as he scrubbed his face for a moment, trying to process all of this. After a moment he seemed to shake off his dark thoughts.

"John, I don't suppose you have a handbook on the military protocol for someone returning from the dead, do you?"

That had all three of them chuckling. "No, but you can check with Carson. He might have some tips."

That earned Sheppard a sharp smack on the arm, all three of them still grinning. Sheppard glanced at his watch. If he hurried, he might still be able to catch Mister Woolsey and share the good news. Standing up, he gripped Evan's shoulder and squeezed gently; his version of a hug.

"Welcome back, Evan. Behave for Carson, and focus on getting better. Don't worry about the rest. We'll figure it out later. I'm going to go update Mister Woolsey."

"Thanks, John," Lorne said, the sincerity in his expression.

Thinking he might get his first real night of sleep in months, Sheppard headed out of the isolation room.

~o~o~o~

Late that night, Atlantis slept. Sheppard had always had a sense of the city around him. And that sense had only grown with time. For him it was almost alive. At the moment, the city slept; along with most of its population. It was like a low, comforting hum in the back of his mind. But Sheppard was not one of the lucky ones. Apparently all those days and nights spent in a chair in the isolation room with no real day/night sense had messed with his circadian rhythms. As ever, the best way to reset it was to just give up on sleep, go for a jog, and find something to keep him busy during the following day until he could go to bed at a normal hour again. Throwing on some jogging clothes, he let his mind wander. Jogging was also the time he spent sorting through all the thoughts and emotions he didn't like to deal with. It was a sort of auto-pilot setting he fell into when jogging. And, given the content of his thoughts these past few days, it was no wonder he wanted to jog instead of sleep.

As he made his first pass through the halls and down toward the piers outside, Sheppard felt his heartbeat and breathing fall into a rhythm that left his mind free to wander. Of course, the first thing that came up was the return of his friend. The fact that Evan survived in the first place left him feeling tiny stabs of guilt he refused to acknowledge most of the time. He'd run the scene through his mind too many times to count. He'd been over the reports from everyone involved in minute detail. He'd even questioned Lorne's team down to the tiniest detail. None of them could have foreseen what happened. And nothing they did could have changed the situation.

But that didn't stop his conscience from saying otherwise.

Having Evan back, alive and well, was the kind of impossible miracle no one hopes for. And that brought Sheppard to his next chain of thought. The fact that Evan was alive and in Atlantis. This was going to prove to be more than a bit touchy. He knew, even if Evan didn't, that there was going to be one hell of a mess to get this sorted out.

His train of thought was cut off abruptly as he returned to awareness of his surroundings long enough to give a mental groan. Instead of heading out to one of the piers, he realized he was a corridor away from Lorne's isolation room. Part of him just wanted to turn around and resume his jog. But a greater part of him figured he was already here. Might as well see if Lorne was up and needed company. Not wanting to disturb him if he was sleeping, Sheppard made his way up to the observation room.

The first thing he spotted was the empty gurney in the middle of the room. He had stationed two guards outside the isolation room just in case Lorne wasn't as well as he appeared earlier that night. Looking around, there was no sight of Lorne or Beckett. He was glad to note Beckett had probably gone back to his quarters for some real sleep for the first time in a week. But that made Lorne's absence all the more worrisome.

Rather than raising the alarm, Sheppard headed over to a nearby laptop that was recording the video feed from Lorne's room. Almost right away he spotted the pale blue scrubs Lorne was wearing. Apparently he had left the gurney for a more comfortable sleeping spot. He was curled up on the floor against the wall directly under the observation windows. With his back outward, Sheppard couldn't really tell if he was sleeping or something else. But something about that fetal position had his senses tingling. Zooming in, he found he was right. By the looks of it, Lorne was crying. Not just weeping, but all out sobbing. His whole body shook with the sobs, though he was doing his best to keep them muffled.

Readjusting the zoom to normal, Sheppard stepped away from the laptop. The sight had made his stomach churn. Lorne was one of the most solid people he'd ever known. The man had been through hell and back on more than one occasion and come back with a smile on his face. From the standpoint of emotional health, he came off virtually indestructible.

Flopping heavily into a chair, knowing he was only a dozen or so feet away from his suffering friend, Sheppard considered what to do. It was already abundantly clear that whatever had happened to Lorne had been nothing short of horrific. The fact that he didn't even know who he was when they had first brought him back was evidence enough. Something was clearly broken inside, and they hadn't even begun to assess the damage, yet. He'd never been good with emotional displays. He knew he was next to useless in this situation. But if Lorne was suffering that badly, someone should be in there with him. Who could he possibly get this late at night?

Before he even had a chance to go through the list of possible people, he heard Lorne's voice from below, making the hair on the back of his neck stand on end.

"Please, let me go. She needs me. My goddess needs me. I fulfill her wishes. I bring her traitors' heads. She must be missing me. Please, let me out of here."

Moving to the railing, Sheppard could see Lorne standing now. He was looking up at the windows, right at him. That sick sense in his gut twisted sideways as the pleading continued. Shaking his head to shake off that nauseating sense, he started to radio a doctor. Apparently the man below misinterpreted that head shake. Because a moment later he went ballistic. In a screaming rage, he began to throw around the equipment, the gurney, the tables, the chairs. He even chucked the laptop at the windows. Thankfully, this time he wasn't nearly as strong without the Wraith enzyme.

Sheppard didn't even have to radio the guards outside Lorne's room. The moment they heard the noise they were in the room with their stunners. One was already on the radio calling for whomever it was Beckett had instructed. Having been just about to turn away and head down to the isolation room, himself, Sheppard stopped to watch. A few seconds later he was cursing under his breath as he left the observation room. His men had handled it by the book, but when the stunner had taken Lorne down it was clear his head had hit the wheel of the gurney on the way down.

Both of the younger guards were pale faced when Sheppard entered the room. One of them was already knelt down beside Lorne using a field bandage to slow the flow of blood.

"I've already radioed the infirmary, sir," Lieutenant Addison told him, looking as if he was expecting a reprimand.

Suddenly realizing just how dark his expression must have been, Sheppard forced himself to smile reassuringly. "You boys did good. Help me get him onto the gurney. We need to get the restraints on before he comes to."

"Yes, sir."

Given that the wound was near the crown of Lorne's head, Lieutenant Wells, just tied off the bandage under Lorne's chin and moved to help the Colonel lift Lorne onto the gurney. They were just getting the last of the primary restraints buckled when Doctor Hernandez came into the room with a kit. Sheppard stepped back and let the two Lieutenants explain what had happened before adding the information for the preceding minutes.

Apparently Yann was back, and things just got a whole lot more complicated.


	11. Chapter 10

_**A/N:** And this is where we get into the M rating. From here on there are graphic scenes and torture. If you are weak-stomached, you probably want to skip any scenes that involve Lorne's flashbacks. _

_Also, if you have issues with anything related to suicide, please skip the flashbacks._

 _FYI, this fic is based on the assumption that the Wraith cannot raise the dead, only heal the living._

* * *

 **Chapter Ten**

Early the next morning Colonel Sheppard and a half-asleep Doctor Beckett finished reviewing the footage with Doctor Lindells, the city's latest psychologist. She'd been with the expedition since just before leaving Earth to return to the Pegasus Galaxy. It made her the longest tenured psychologist in the city since Heightmeyer. Apparently it took a certain kind of person to be able to deal with all the neuroses in a city full of genius scientists. And she even had what it took to pick out those in need of help among the military contingent as well. All around, she was about as well liked as Kate had been, if a bit older. Following SOP, Sheppard had seen quite a bit of her following Lorne's funeral; as had a lot of others.

Now he watched as she considered what they had just seen. Having already done her research into Colonel Lorne's background—including the sleepwalking—it was clear on her face that she had already begun to form some theories. Turning her attention to Beckett, she asked, "You've got more tests you were going to run, right?"

"Aye, though the CT scan is already done."

"Checking for skull fractures?" Bette asked, waiting for Beckett's confirmation nod. "Any abnormalities?"

"No, but there are still several other tests I would like to run to do a more thorough evaluation of his physical condition. Given the stress his body has been through, I would like to be able to send him back to Earth with as much information as possible. Plus, if I run an MRI we may spot something that would account for his personality changes."

"I'll be honest with you," Lindells said, recalling Lorne's file. "I don't think it's anything physical. We have no idea what he's been through or what the Wraith may have done in their attempts to convert him. It is possible that this Yann personality was created to cope with that. If that is the case, we're looking at years of therapy to even get him back to something approaching normal for him. Yann might be the least of our concerns. PTSD is going to be my focus for the time being."

"But you can help him?" Sheppard persisted, refusing to believe what they were discussing.

"Not in the way you're thinking, Colonel. And not overnight. I can do the complete evaluation when you're done with him, Doctor Beckett. But you should both be making plans to send him back to Earth. There are plenty of facilities the SGC has at their disposal to ensure Colonel Lorne is cared for and treated properly for the long-term, if need be," Lindells reminded both of them, even though Sheppard had walked away not wanting to hear what she was saying.

"Thank you, Doctor. I'll let you know when he's ready to meet with you," Beckett said, keeping an eye on Sheppard.

Lindells, sensing the two had more to discuss, gathered her things and left the observation room. Sheppard waited until she was out of hearing range before turning around.

"This is bullshit."

Beckett, the picture of serenity, had obviously been prepared for this. "I know it isn't pleasant, John. But the reality is, Evan may need years of care before he can even reconcile what happened to bring on a second personality."

That calm tone seemed to have more effect than a punch to the face. Sheppard slumped into a convenient chair. He knew they were right. Since Yann had proven not to be a brief personality shift caused by the enzyme, then they had to take the proper course of action for Lorne; regardless of what they wanted. Putting away his own feelings, Sheppard turned to Beckett as he sat beside him.

"I know, Carson," he finally said. "It's just not what I wanted to hear."

Beckett patted him on the shoulder comfortingly, but let it go at that. For a few minutes the two of them sat in comfortable silence, wrapped in their own thoughts.

"What the…Hey, is anyone here?"

The voice from the isolation room below being fed through the intercom speakers they had been using to keep an eye out shook them both out of their thoughts. Beckett headed toward the door while Sheppard reached over to the intercom.

"Hang tight, Evan. We'll be there in a minute."

~o~o~o~

Lorne had gone pale and unusually quiet when they had told him that morning about what had happened during the night. Now understanding the need for the restraints, he asked them quietly if it only happened when he slept; obviously fearing it had something to do with a re-occurrence of his sleepwalking. After they described the condition in which they'd found him, he seemed even less relieved than if they'd told him it was all sleepwalking. Apparently he remembered nothing of these episodes. Beckett, trying to raise his spirits, tried to put a positive spin on everything as he described the list of tests the he wanted to run to determine his overall health, as well as any possible neurological damages. Lorne had just nodded and allowed himself to be led away, guards and all. But Sheppard had seen the terror behind those blue eyes and knew that Lorne was already thinking about where this would all end for him.

Feeling sick over the whole mess, Sheppard met up with Woolsey to update him on Lorne's progress. Woolsey told him he would be informing the SGC on their next scheduled dial in a week. This time Sheppard didn't argue. Following that, he'd met up with his team to discuss their upcoming mission in a few days, now that Lorne was up and about. The rest of the day he spent trapped in his office having to do all the paperwork he hadn't done in the last week that was already stacked to astronomical proportions. Sighing heavily, he was again reminded how much he missed Lorne. The man had a way of making paperwork disappear before Sheppard even knew it was there.

Shortly after dinnertime, however, he just couldn't take anymore. The headache throbbing on both sides of his head was a clear reminder of how little sleep he'd had lately. Deciding it was late enough Beckett should be done with his tests, Sheppard headed out of his office.

When he entered the isolation room, he was slightly alarmed to see the gurney in the center of the room empty.

"Over here, John," Evan called out from a corner opposite the door.

There he spotted Lorne sitting with his knees up and both arms resting atop them. At first glance he appeared to just be enjoying sitting in a different position. Upon closer inspection, Sheppard realized that Lorne had probably spent most of the last three months sitting just like that in a Wraith cell. Plastering a grin on his face, Sheppard headed toward him.

"Pull up a chair. Grab a cold one. Join the party," Lorne told him, the bitterness clear in his voice.

Ignoring the bitterness, Sheppard smirked, "Now that's more like the Evan I know."

The scowl that graced Lorne's face briefly told Sheppard what he'd thought of that remark. "What do you want, John?"

Feigning emotional wounding, Sheppard flopped down on the floor opposite him, crossing his ankles and leaning back on his hands. "I'm hurt. You think I wouldn't come around just to see my friend? You're right, though. I should have brought beer."

Now Lorne did chuckle, despite his obviously vile mood. "I would love to see the look on Carson's face when he sees that."

"I wouldn't, so we'll just pretend I didn't say it."

Lorne just nodded, his eyes distant as he tilted his head back against the wall and stared at the distant ceiling.

"Tired?"

"You can quit feeling guilty, John. It wasn't your fault," he said, still staring at the ceiling.

Sheppard gave a visible wince at this sudden and surprising turn of conversation before he recovered himself. He huffed a laugh. Yes, his friend knew him all too well. Even Sheppard knew it was a misplaced sense of guilt he felt. But it was still there. "What makes you think I'm feeling guilty?" he asked, still thinking to half-heartedly deny it.

Watching Lorne closely, Sheppard just caught the twitch of his lips before the expression went cold. Now staring right at Sheppard, Lorne's eyes were no longer distant, but intense and even a bit cold. "Because I remember."

~o~o~o~

"Damn," Lorne muttered as he slapped his last P90 clip into place.

The only thing that had worked in his favor, thus far, was the fact that the door to this power plant room with the main core was small enough to defend on his own. He'd already set the explosives and was just waiting for word from his team that they were out. If he ran out of bullets before they were back at the Jumper, he'd have to go ahead and detonate hoping it would draw attention away from them. If he was going to die, he wanted to at least know they'd made it out of this mess, first.

One after another he gunned down Wraith soldiers and generals and scientists and whatever the hell else they wanted to call themselves. They were still managing to get closer than he felt comfortable, but being out of grenades, he didn't really have a way to push them back further again.

" _Colonel Lorne, what's your position?"_

Lorne thought his smile would crack his face in half. _Yes!_ he thought, tapping on his radio before gunning down more warriors.

"Got a bit of a problem, sir. I'm pinned down in the power plant. You're going to have to go without me."

" _Like hell we will. We don't—"_

Taking aim, he took out a couple of generals that had been behind the warriors, Lorne cut him off, "Leave anybody behind. Yeah, I got that the first thousand times, Colonel. But you're not going to—" Lorne was cut off for a moment as he caught sight of some more generals right behind the ones he killed. Using up the last of his P90 ammo, he dropped the gun and picked up the detonator. "—be able to get to me. I'm six or seven levels below the surface and pinned down. I've planted the explosives on the generator core," he explained, moving further away from the door.

" _We're on our way."_

"Head to the gate, Colonel!" Lorne snapped, trying to make himself invisible behind the core. "You won't be leaving anybody behind!"

" _Damn it, Lorne. I—"_

Hearing the Wraith pouring through the door, Lorne kept his back to the core. Suddenly his racing heart slowed and a calm settled over him. "It's been an honor, sir. Now get our teams out of here, John! I don't know how big this—" Suddenly a clawed hand from the opposite side he'd been watching gripped him by the shoulder, dragging him away from the core. "Son of a—" By the time his brain caught up, the thing had already slapped a hand to his chest.

In an instant his world was consumed in agony unlike anything he could have ever imagined. From a single point on his chest it felt like his soul was being ripped out. Unable to stop the screams that he only distantly heard, some small part of his brain was clinging to the one thing he could beyond the pain. Somewhere far away, he felt his hand move on the detonator he'd somehow managed to hold on to. Then his world erupted in fire and a strange kind of silence. Everything had slowed down as he felt his body being thrown across the room and against the wall, the Wraith still attached to him. He felt several bones in his back and spine shatter with the force of the impact. His eyes still too overwhelmed by the brightness of the explosion, he was surprised to see bright colors of light when his head had impacted the wall.

The Wraith still clinging to him must have still been alive at that point, because when they slid down the wall to the floor, it staggered backward one step before Lorne felt his limp body sliding sideways, bringing the Wraith down on top of him. As reality and time caught up to one another, Lorne felt himself struggling to breathe with the weight of the general on top of him. Bit by bit his ears and eyes began to work again, along with his other senses. Some part of his brain wondered at the fact that he was still alive. The other part wondered at the lack of pain. Guessing it had something to do with the fact that his back was likely broken in several places below the neck, he tried to move the Wraith off of him so he could get to his pistol.

Mentally cursing, Lorne realized his right arm was pinned between himself and the Wraith, and it wasn't moving. Turning his head to the left to see if maybe he could use his left arm to free himself, he felt something more disturbing than he had ever seen in any horror movie. It was like something had dropped off his face. Suddenly the left side of his head felt so much lighter. Feeling shock making everything distant in his mind, he stuck his tongue out through the left of his jaws. Like a kid sticking his tongue through the gap between his missing teeth, Lorne felt his tongue go right through, but there was no longer cheek flesh on that side to stop the open air from drying his tongue.

Then his eyes fell on his left arm…or rather, what was left of it. A charred mass missing huge chunks of blackened flesh lay beside him. From shoulder to fingers, there wasn't much left of flesh, but the white bones were clearly visible. Only barely able to raise his head, Lorne looked down the left side of his body. The flesh had pretty much been blown off the entire left side of his body. And the Wraith's back was mostly missing. The explosion had ripped them both apart. His shock-numbed mind could not quite make sense of it. But somewhere in there was the thought that he had to get to his gun. He had to get it and finish the job before they came. He couldn't let them take him away. He couldn't let them heal him.

Struggling frantically, he managed to free his right arm. But it felt so far away…His breathing now ragged, fast, and shallow, he knew he didn't have time to waste. They would be flooding into that room the moment they knew it was safe to do so. Silently he prayed. But it was no use. His right arm just flopped. All he could do was pray he died before they got to him.

~o~o~o~

Self-recriminations coursing through his thoughts, Lorne realized Sheppard was beginning to look uncomfortable with this conversation. So he decided to put him out of his misery. "Did my sub-cutaneous transmitter stop sending a signal?"

"Yes."

"Then you have nothing to feel guilty about."

"What happened?" Sheppard asked, almost not wanting to know.

Turning his gaze back toward the ceiling, Lorne's face twitched for a moment in pain. "May I ask a favor, sir?" he asked, adding the honorific to signal that this was an official request.

"Of course," Sheppard asked, glad he wasn't going to get an answer to his last question.

"I know you'll have to tell the SGC, Colonel, but can you see if there's a way to keep my family from knowing?"

"Why?"

Again Sheppard felt as if his friend was staring right through him when those blue eyes found his. "They're going to ship me off to a facility, and quietly make me disappear. With what I know, they'll never be able to release me, even if I prove myself sane. My mother doesn't need that strain, and my sister…Better her and the boys think I'm gone."

Sheppard nodded sadly. He'd hoped this moment could be held off a while longer, but there was no point. Lorne wasn't stupid. He'd figured it out already. His life was over. Anything that meant something to him was gone, and now he wouldn't even be able to stay in the city he'd come to think of as home. That sick feeling in his gut was back, making his stomach twist. There was no point in denying or making light of what they already knew.

"Oh, and John?"

Eyeing Lorne quizzically, he waited patiently while the man seemed to wrestle with something. Finally, Lorne's lips quirked in a grin. "You still owe me a hundred bucks."

Sheppard couldn't help it. He laughed. The fact that Evan had remembered that, and brought it up even under these circumstances was so much like the friend he'd known that it gave him a sudden spark of hope that maybe things would be alright for him. In seconds Lorne was laughing along with him. It felt good to laugh. Sheppard had missed Lorne's sense of humor and dry wit. God, he'd missed that laugh!

After a few minutes, the two got themselves under control and Sheppard said goodnight to his friend. Lorne sat for a while longer, just enjoying being out of the restraints he knew they were going to put him back into before he slept.


	12. Chapter 11

**Chapter Eleven**

Not even having the ability to toss and turn was torture enough, Lorne reflected as the hours dragged by. But added to that was the itch under his now surprisingly loose cast was bordering on inhumane. Given what they'd told him had happened the night before, he didn't blame them for taking precautions. They'd posted one guard inside the room, two outside the room, and a doctor on call. Considering all of this, he wondered how long until daylight. He had no way of knowing how long he'd been laying there, but he was done. Craning his neck, he turned his head toward the door, catching sight of a familiar face.

Smiling, he called out to the silent figure. "Hiya, Lieutenant. Who's the doctor on duty tonight?"

"Doctor Renton, sir."

"Can you radio him for me and tell him I'm not sleeping, please?"

"Sure thing, sir."

Resuming his staring at the ceiling, Lorne waited with as much patience as he could muster. Finally the graying doctor appeared, scowling darkly as he approached the gurney.

"What's this I hear about you not sleeping?" he asked gruffly.

"Just that, Doc. I can't sleep."

"Is your arm hurting again, or is it something else?" the doctor asked, crossing his arms.

"Yeah, my head and my arm are throbbing, but no worse than you've given me in the sparring rooms."

The man snorted in amusement. "I'll get you the good stuff, then."

"Hey!" Lorne protested the implication. "That's just not right. Ronon's done worse to me."

"Ronon's a different story altogether. Anything else I can get you?"

"Did Carson say I wasn't allowed out of the restraints, even if I couldn't sleep?"

"No. But he didn't specifically say otherwise, either."

"Aw, come on, Allen. With three black belts you could easily take me down if I misbehave. And you've got backup right over there. And I know Lieutenant Morrow is trigger happy when it comes to the stunners. Besides, who wouldn't want to get away with being able to say they got to stun their XO?"

Doctor Renton chuckled at the idea as Morrow gave Lorne a wicked grin. "Point taken. What were you planning to do, if not sleep?"

"I'm just feeling cooped up. I figure some exercise might help wear me out."

Renton nodded at this. "When you're ready to sleep, just have the Lieutenant radio me."

"Will do. Thanks, Doc."

Undoing the restraints, Renton hovered for a moment out of habit to make sure Lorne would be okay sitting and then standing up. Certain he wasn't going to fall on his face, Lorne nodded. Stretching his legs, arms and back a little bit, Lorne waited for Renton to return with a white tablet and a cup of water. He recognized the tablet as soon as he spotted it. With a grimace he downed the Vicodin, fairly certain that once it hit his system, he was likely going to be back in the bed anyway. He never had liked the dizziness that came with it. But, he did have to admit, his head and arm were hurting pretty badly at this point.

Renton took the empty cup and left the isolation room. For a few more minutes Lorne just stretched various parts of his body, trying to tune out the memories that had been demanding his attention. Feeling the first effects of the Vicoden, he turned to survey the room. Most of the equipment was gathered near the center of the room. Though there was a lot less in there then there had been the previous day, Lorne thought it still felt too crowded. Unlocking the wheels, he pushed the gurney closer to the table of equipment. Satisfied, he pushed away the first feelings of drowsiness. Now that he was up and about, he wasn't going to waste the time he had. Starting just under the observation windows, he began to jog around the room. Morrow backed up into a corner to be out of his way as she watched.

Lorne had always enjoyed the simplicity of jogging. He could use it to sort through the various thoughts in his head; or—like tonight—he could use it to clear his mind completely. Like a sort of meditation, Lorne shoved all thought away to a muted hum in the background. Before long all that existed was the slapping of his bare feet on the floor, his heartbeat, and his breathing. Everything else faded away.

In the observation room above, Doctor Lindells took notes.

~o~o~o~

"Morning, Carson," Lorne called with a smile, earning him a scowl from the usually affable doctor.

Of course, Doctor Beckett had never been a morning person. Setting his coffee on the table, he crossed his arms as he faced Lorne. "I hear you didn't sleep last night."

Looking slightly guilty, Lorne nodded. "I was a little restless."

Grunting unhappily, Beckett said, "You were jogging for three hours."

"Like I said, I was restless and cooped up."

"On Vicodin."

Sighing Lorne dropped his head to his chest for a moment. Beckett knew him too well. "What do you want me to say?"

"Be honest, for starters. If the memories are keeping you up, then I can give you something to help you sleep," Beckett told him, clearly not in a good mood and not willing to put up with any excuses. "If it's something else, you don't have to tell me details. I can imagine you've got enough on your mind to keep you awake for a long time to come. Doctor Lindells will be in later this morning."

Now frowning darkly, Lorne felt his mood shifting drastically as he recalled the memories that had not only kept him up last night, but had driven all thoughts of sleep right out of his head.

~o~o~o~

Colonel Lorne wasn't sure how long he lay there, in shock, willing his heart to just stop. But, of course, it couldn't be that easy. Again and again he forced his right arm to move toward his pistol. Part of him knew that it was just something for him to focus on so he wasn't constantly turning his eyes back toward the charred wreckage that was the left side of his body. He knew the only reason he was alive was because of the massive dose of enzyme that had flooded his system when the Wraith attached to him died. A greater part of him was searching for a way to die quicker. He knew it was only a matter of time before the other Wraith entered the room. If they found him alive, they would heal him and use him. His fingertips brushed the edge of the pistol's grip. If he could just…

For a moment all he could do was stare up into those alien yellow eyes. The Wraith's long, white hair falling over his shoulder seemed to entrance Lorne's hazy thoughts. Somewhere far away, his mind screamed denial. He just hoped they would end it quickly.

"You have done this," it growled out.

 _That's it!_ he thought. Maybe he could use that to get it to kill him! Lorne forced a smile, feeling the missing flesh on the left side of his face all that much more. "Yeah, you're screwed now. Prisoners escaped _and_ I took out your generator core." He wanted it to sound loud and defiant; it came out soft and pathetic. Whatever, as long as the thing—

It lifted the dead Wraith off of him, throwing it aside like so much garbage. Any hope Lorne had of a quick death was shattered when the thing slapped its hand to his chest. The agony that burned through his body then made feeding feel like a tickle. In too much pain to even scream, he just lay there feeling it all. He could feel every inch of his body healing itself. Bones snapped back into place. Flesh reached out to flesh to close the wounds. Tendons and ligaments pulled taught. Nerves that had been burned out of existence or severed at the spinal cord when it was damaged suddenly came alive…and every last one of them _burned._

Gasping, shaking, not able to breathe, too lost in the pain to even know who or what he was, he again prayed for death; this time to end the pain. For an eternity that searing agony all over his body was all he knew. By the time he regained his senses, he was somewhere else. Bit by bit he grew accustomed to the slightly lower level of agony that was left once it had stopped healing him. Cracking one eye open, he found himself lying on his right side on the floor in front of a Wraith queen seated on her throne. She appeared to be watching him with some fascination.

Seeing that he was awake, she came down off the throne to walk around him. His exposed, half-healed flesh and nerves spiked agony time and again as the slightest breeze from her skirt shifted around him. Still trembling from head to foot from the pain and gasping for breath, he felt the screams welling up inside of him. The pain was too much. His mind was turning to a dull white agony. God, please let it end!

"I can end the pain, human. I can heal you, or end your suffering. And you only have to give me one thing," she cooed, coming around to the front of him to kneel down.

The tiniest corner of Lorne's mind not consumed in agony heard her words. More importantly, he felt a pressure in his mind as she tried to force him. Clinging to the agony, now, to keep him centered and give him strength to force her out of his mind, he shuddered and gasped.

"Go to hell…" he whispered.

She laughed. "Ah, such defiance," she drew a long deep breath, as if savoring the scent of his burnt flesh. "Tell me the location of Atlantis, and I will end your suffering."

The pressure in his mind was back. It was demanding that he comply. Bit by bit the searing pain was making it impossible to think. He could feel his mind being overrun. Soon he wouldn't be able to keep her out. Soon he wouldn't be able to think enough to stop himself from giving her what she wanted. Panicked, consumed in his suffering, Lorne cast about his mind for something—anything—to focus on that would keep him from giving her what she wanted. That's when training kicked in.

"Evan Lorne. Lieutenant Colonel, United States Air Force. Five seven three nine eight two one eight. May sixth nineteen seventy."

She leaned close, her unnatural blood red hair falling across her shoulders and face. Lorne stared up at her with as much defiance as he could muster as he gave his answer. After listening to him with open curiosity, clearly not understanding most of what he'd said or its significance, she leaned back again. Focusing all her attention on him, the pressure was back, this time with painful force.

"What is the gate address to Atlantis?"

"Evan Lorne. Lieutenant Colonel, United States Air Force. Five seven three nine eight two one eight. May sixth nineteen seventy."

Her frustration beginning to show visibly on her face, she hissed. "Tell me what I want to know!"

His mind focused on that one thing, Lorne again said, "Evan Lorne. Lieutenant Co—"

The following words were lost in screams as she reached over and began to pull on the exposed muscle tissues in his partially healed left arm. Her wicked smile with a mouth full of pointed teeth was lost on Lorne as his entire being was consumed in agony.

"Tell me what I want and I will give you back your life. Where is Atlantis?"

The pressure in his mind combined with the searing pain nearly undid him. For several seconds, all he could do was gasp for air. Swallowing, he took one last deep breath.

"Evan Lorne. Lieutenant Colonel, United—"

Again Lorne's screams filled the room, this time making her smile. She was running her claw-like nails up and down the raw, half-healed flesh of his ribcage. This time she combined the physical pain with mental, probing his mind. But still he resisted her. This time he didn't bother to try to pull himself together, or wait for her to ask. Sobbing, the tears running unheeded down his face as he turned it toward the floor, he continued in a sobbing whisper.

"Evan Lorne. Lieutenant Colonel, United States Air Force…"

As he continued, she brought up her hand covered in his blood and sniffed as one would whiff the scent of a rose. She smiled, the pleasure clear on her face. "You have such bitter blood, human. Pity so much of it is being wasted. I shall have to find a use for it. Where is Atlantis? What is the gate address?"

"…sixth nineteen seventy. Evan Lorne. Lieutenant Colonel Unites States Air Force. Five—"

Whereas before some tiny piece of his mind had begged for the pain to stop, now there wasn't even that. The pain had unraveled his mind. He couldn't think, he couldn't see, he couldn't breathe. All that existed was that eternity of agony. And, somewhere far away, there was a voice.

"…nine eight two one eight. May sixth nineteen seventy. Evan Lorne…."

~o~o~o~

"You're right, Doc. I had some stuff on my mind. I needed to work it out, not hide from it," Lorne told Carson, a lot more calmly than he felt in that moment as those moments replayed themselves in his mind for a second.

Beckett's blue eyes bored into his for a moment longer before softening. "It's alright, son. I can understand why you'd not want to sleep. Just remember that your body needs rest. Whatever else may have occurred, your body has been through a tremendous amount of stress, just in the last week."

"I know. I'll sleep tonight, Carson. Or I'll ask you for something. Deal?"

Without a trace of humor, Beckett nodded. "Aye. Now, time for some breakfast, and then Doctor Lindells wanted to get started as early as possible today. If you're up for it, that is."

"Sure, Doc. It'll be nice to see Bette again."

"Tomorrow we're going to check on your left arm. The swelling should have gone down enough that we can put a more permanent cast on. You're not going to like it," the doctor warned.

With a grimace, Lorne recalled the last time he'd broken his arm. The cast went from hand to halfway up his bicep. It was itchy and annoying beyond all reason. You would think with all this technology at their disposal, they could come up with a better way to deal with a broken appendage. Heaving a sigh, Lorne nodded to Beckett that he understood.

Satisfied, Beckett took up his coffee with a nod and left the isolation room. Lorne watched him leave, feeling his stomach rumbling unhappily as he was pleasantly surprised to find he actually was hungry. Hoping this was a good sign for what the rest of his day would be like, he stood up and stretched again while waiting on his breakfast tray.


	13. Chapter 12

**Chapter Twelve**

True to his word, Beckett had a nurse bring in his breakfast tray a few minutes after seven in the morning. Still feeling upbeat, Lorne was happy to find enough appetite to finish the tray of actual, solid food. Feeling satisfied on that score, but otherwise bored and cooped up, still, he went back to stretching and roaming around the room. Briefly he wondered that he hadn't seen his team or anyone else come to visit him except the occasional shadow in the observation room. He wondered if it had something to do with his initial bad mood and Yann's violent outbursts. Under those circumstances he could understand.

Caught up in those thoughts, he failed to hear Doctor Lindells enter the room while he was pacing away from the door. Turning around, he gave a brief start before he broke into a smile.

"Heya, Bette!" he called cheerfully. "It's good to see you again."

Clearly not sure what kind of welcome she would receive, Lindells had kept her expression neutral until then. Breaking into a smile, herself, she returned his greeting. "Good morning, Evan. How are you feeling this morning?"

"Bored," he told her honestly with a smirk.

Looking around for some chairs, Lorne nearly groaned. He'd forgotten they had taken them out and not brought any back in. Glancing toward the door, Lorne realized this was to be a private session when he realized his in-room guard had stepped out.

"You wanna get a couple of chairs?" he asked. "I promise not to try to bust outta here."

"My old bum can still handle a cold floor. Besides, those plastic pieces of junk are more uncomfortable than the floor. Reminds me of those god awful school desks we had when I was a kid."

Still grinning, Lorne motioned toward the wall over near the door. Knowing she would likely need the back support, he opted to sit across from her while she leaned up against the wall. Outside of the usual standard operating procedure visits for regular evaluations and post-mission sessions required after a loss or particularly stressful mission, Lorne hadn't really had much interaction with Doctor Lindells in the last couple of years. Unlike the friendship he had shared with Kate before she'd died, Doctor Lindells felt more to him like a grandmother. Though she was nowhere near that old, she somehow reminded him of the days when he would go crying to his own grandmother over a skinned knee and she would talk him around and right out of his tears with a few words. Despite the circumstances of this visit, it really was comforting to see her again.

"Speaking of old bums," Lorne started once they were settled, "how's that husband of yours? Still threatening to take Chewie when he goes?"

Bette chuckled. "Yes, as a matter of fact, he finally managed to serve me the divorce papers. I enjoyed frustrating him with trying to reach me through the SGC and a galaxy away. But, I finally signed the papers last week and sent them back with the last scheduled dial in."

"Well, that's one less thing to worry about. Sorry about Chewie."

Bette waved this away. "He was a sweet dog. But they won't let me have a pet out here anyway. The way that old windbag dotes on him, Chewie'll be in heaven."

"That's good."

Obviously pleasantries were over when she turned her attention to the tablet she'd brought with her. "I've gone over the footage from when they brought you in, your detox, and most recently the other night. Obviously we have no details of what happened while you were…gone," she said, catching herself nearly saying dead, making her cheeks redden slightly. "So, where would you like to start?"

Lorne laughed, somewhat darkly and gave her an incredulous look. "My family thinks I'm dead. Anyone I knew back on Earth thinks I'm dead. The Air Force and SGC think I'm dead. And now I have a Wraith-worshipping personality in my head that likes to come out to play when I sleep. Where would _you_ want to start?"

"Not that I have any idea what it's like or what you're going through, but I would want to start by getting my life back," she retorted, taking his attitude in stride.

Lorne, still amused by this and feeling his darker humor showing sighed. "Okay, how about we start a bit smaller. A good night's sleep in my own quarters without restraints would be nice. Oh, wait, I don't have quarters here in Atlantis anymore."

Now giving him the same look his grandmother used to give him when he was being a stubborn fool, Lindells started in a stern voice, "Look, Colonel—"

"Evan or Lorne. I don't' care which. But, in case you haven't heard, the Colonel died a few months ago."

Her expression changed considerably as those hazel eyes scrutinized him much more closely, obviously not seeing the humor in the situation. "So, is it that you don't' think you'll get your life back? Or is it that you don't want it back?"

His previous good mood soured, Lorne was a bit taken aback by her blunt questions. To be fair to her, he did consider the question. He wasn't entirely sure where his sudden sense of anger was coming from, but he did know that he was feeling cornered and trapped again.

"I stated a simple fact," he finally settled on calm and collected, knowing if he allowed his current subconscious emotions to take over, this was likely to get ugly fast. "For the moment, I am not a Colonel. Maybe someday. But I think we both know I have a long way to go before then. More than likely, they're going to stick me in a facility where I'm just another mental patient. So, I'll ask you again, Doctor Lindells: At what point in this living nightmare would you like me to start?"

"Fine, I'll accept that you're not a Colonel now," she conceded calmly. "But your hostility is definitely coming off as uncooperative."

Lorne barked a dark laugh. Part of his mind was in disbelief that any of this was happening, and that was just making this whole situation even more ludicrous. "'Hostility'? Not by a long shot. 'Uncooperative'? Not yet. What I am doing is questioning your capability to 'get my life back', as you put it. You don't typically sugar-coat things, Bette. Why are you evading and pretending this will have a happy ending?"

She cocked a white eyebrow at him. "What makes you think I'm sugar-coating anything?"

"Fine, you're suffering from the delusion that I even _can_ have my life back."

Now Lindells laughed. "Delusional? You're the crazy one, here."

That verbal slap left Lorne outright speechless for a moment. Standing up and walking a few feet away before he did something stupid, he tried to think rationally. Seeing she had the upper hand, Lindles asked outright, "What pisses you off more, Evan? The fact that you think I can't help you? Or the fact that you need help at all?"

Lorne just continued to stare at her, as if she'd just grown another head.

"Don't want to talk to me? Fine. Let me talk to Yann."

"No."

"Well, since _you_ don't want my help, maybe he does," she continued, calmly as Lorne stood up and began to walk away. "Maybe he'll be a bit more cooperative. After all, he does have your body. Besides…Are you laughing?"

Standing several feet away with his back to her, Lorne had planted his hands on his hips and dropped his head. Now his back was clearly trembling with barely contained laughter. Turning around, now he laughed openly. "I'm sorry, Bette. But this whole situation…" He paused to laugh some more before getting himself under control and coming back to sit in front of her. "I'm sorry. But it was laugh or scream, because this whole thing is just insane. And, in case you didn't notice, provocation didn't work. I'm fairly convinced he comes out only when the nightmares start, if that helps any."

Bette grinned. "Busted."

Leaning back on his hands, Lorne considered where they were at now. "This is just an evaluation. I appreciate that you're trying to help me. I'm no psychologist, but I believe it takes more than a couple of sessions to deal with something like this."

"True," she agreed. "But I need to know the extent of what is going on in that head of yours to give a thorough recommendation for treatment on Earth. And you still haven't answered my questions. Are you pissed off that you need help? Do you think you can't have your life back?"

"To be perfectly blunt, I don't think there is any going back. Not after what happened to me," Lorne told her, staring at the ceiling. "As for needing help, not really. Everyone needs help sooner or later. What pisses me off is the type of help I'm going to get. An extended vacation in a mental facility back on Earth while they figure out how much of a security risk I am is not my idea of help."

"What makes you so certain that you can never go back to a normal life, Evan? Even if it isn't in the Air Force or here on Atlantis?"

"Aside from having another personality playing hide-n-seek in my head, it doesn't take a genius to figure out that PTSD just might be a bit of a problem."

"What if Wraith are the only trigger?" Lindells posited, not ready to give up without a fight.

With a wry grin, Lorne shot back, "Not likely."

"Why?"

Crossing his legs and slouching a bit, Lorne sighed. "Do you really want me to go through that whole mess right now?"

"I've got nothing but time."

Lorne nodded as he considered this. He knew sooner or later the whole thing was going to come out. He was not ashamed of what had happened to him. But there was something twisting in his gut at the idea of saying these things out loud. The idea made his stomach lurch. He knew Lindells was a tough woman. In her work as a military psychologist she'd heard some of the worst stories imaginable. And, some of what had happened to him in the beginning had been tame, compared to what came later.

~o~o~o~

His sense of time as skewed as his sense of direction, Lorne wondered just how long it had taken them to heal him. He knew the damage to his body had been virtually impossible to survive. Shock alone should have killed him. Thanks to a massive dose of Wraith feeding enzyme, he'd somehow survived long enough for the queen's Hivemaster to find him and heal him partially. Since that first encounter with the queen, she had healed him two more times.

Now, fully healed and stuck sitting in a Wraith cell naked, he wondered how much longer it would be before he saw her again. Since that first meeting, she'd asked nothing. However, she'd obviously taken a personal interest in him. She healed him personally, rather than making an underling do it. That had been a while ago…he thought, anyway. He couldn't remember from the briefing material how long the days were on this planet. And, for that matter, if it would even be an issue since Wraith didn't sleep.

Heaving a sigh, Lorne reminded himself that there was no point in trying to keep time. To everyone else, he was dead. And the only thing he was actually waiting for was to be interrogated, tortured, and eventually die or be converted. Not much of a reason to keep time. Any hope he'd had of a quick death by feeding was long gone. He knew she was going to keep him alive until she got what she wanted out of him, even if it meant converting him into a Wraith worshipper. Much as he would have liked to deny the possibility of either one actually happening, he wasn't stupid. He just hoped he could hold out long enough for Atlantis to realize they were in trouble. The one bit of luck he'd had in all of this so far was knowing that his GDO had been destroyed. With his IDC taken off the active list within hours of Colonel Sheppard's return to Atlantis, at least they wouldn't pretend to be him and then flood the gate room with Wraith. So, even if she managed to get the gate address, Atlantis was safe.

Letting these and other thoughts chase themselves around his head, Lorne tried to put away the rising fear he felt as his imagination tried to take off with scenarios of what the queen would do to him. Eventually he gave up and slept.

Sometime later Lorne woke from a dream that had centered around his life on Atlantis. He could hear footsteps approaching and stood up quickly. Still naked and trying to ignore it, he faced her through the web-like cell door. She looked him up and down and sniffed almost disdainfully. Feeling his cheeks coloring, Lorne forced himself not to react.

"Now that you are healed, are you ready to answer my questions?"

"Evan Lorne. Lieutenant Colonel, United States Air Force. Five seven three nine eight two one eight. May sixth nineteen seventy."

She waited until he finished, cocking her head in clear curiosity. "What does that mean?"

He replied with a smile of satisfaction and defiance. "Evan Lorne. Lieutenant Colonel, United States Air Force. Five seven three nine eight two one eight. May sixth nineteen seventy."

Pondering this, she opened the cell door and approached. Instantly Lorne felt the pressure in his mind as she tried to force him to obey. "What does it mean?"

Through gritted teeth, he answered, "Evan Lorne. Lieutenant Colonel, United States Air Force. Five seven three nine eight two one eight. May sixth nineteen seventy."

She increased the pressure in his mind compelling him to obey. "Tell me."

Blinking at the pain, he felt himself becoming distracted as he continued the litany in his mind since he had clenched his jaws by this point. He very nearly smiled again as she hissed in frustration at his defiance. Instead of asking again, she gripped him by the throat. A second later he unclenched his jaws to scream as she fed on him. He wasn't sure how long the feeding lasted, but when he regained his senses her grip on his neck and the hand on his chest forcing him against the wall were the only things keeping him upright.

"Do you feel it, human?" she asked, her face inches from his. "So weak. So tired. Wouldn't you like to be young again?"

In a voice too dry and raspy to be his own, Lorne began again. "Evan Lorne. Lieute—"

The pressure in his mind was back with a vengeance. "What does it mean?"

For a moment it felt like someone had punched him in the head. Blinking and trying to shake it off, he continued again, "Lieutenant Colonel, United—" The pressure in his mind being released so suddenly was enough to make him gasp.

With a smile, she leaned closer until his ear was inches from her lips. With a seductive purr she whispered, "Let me show you what can be yours."

Before he had a chance to even comprehend what was happening, he felt warmth flooding his body from where her hand touched his chest. He'd felt her healing him, before; but this was something completely different. A peaceful bliss descended on his entire being wiping away fear, pain, resistance, his sense of existential existence…everything. Lorne couldn't even comprehend being an individual, or why he would want to as he drifted in this warm rapture. He wanted to be a part of this forever.

Then suddenly the pressure was there again, a silent command to obey. Frustrated that such a perfect and euphoric moment would be interrupted by something so mundane, Lorne very nearly screamed. He just wanted it and the voice to go away. He wanted—

As suddenly as it started, the sensation was gone. Still pinned to the wall by her hands, he realized she had asked him something. He couldn't remember the question. He couldn't remember his answer. Oh God, did he tell her what she asked? What had she asked? He could feel his heart racing in fear as he considered how much damage he might have just done.

"You see, human? The Gift of Life can be pleasurable. Eternal youth. You'll never have to be hungry or sick ever again. You want this, don't you? All you have to do is tell me where to find Atlantis," she cooed in his ear, making him shiver in revulsion.

The relief at realizing he hadn't given her anything made him giddy enough to giggle. Apparently that was not the reaction she was wanting, because a moment later she hissed and fed on him again. Almost as soon as he recovered from that agony, she restored him again. Now aware of her games, Lorne fought back against the euphoria and warmth. Focusing on the reply he'd been trained to give, he ran through it in his mind over and over and over, ignoring the pressure and pleasure. This time he didn't let himself fade away on the tide of warmth, so he heard her when she asked him another question.

"Where is Atlantis?"

Through chattering teeth he replied, "F-F-Five ssssss-se-se-se-seven tttthree—"

Her frustration clear, the queen didn't even bother to give him time to recover. His response was cut off by his screaming as she began to feed on him again. Then she restored him. Over and over and over she did this, emphasizing the pain every time. Then she would pressure him to obey as she restored him, trying to seduce him with the warmth and euphoria. On and on it went until Lorne didn't know who he was anymore, where he was, or what he was saying. The last thing he remembered was being left a sobbing, shaking mess on the floor as she swept out of the cell.


	14. Chapter 13

**Chapter Thirteen**

Returning to the present, Lorne scrubbed his face and ran his hands through his blessedly short hair. He shook his head at Lindells. "Trust me, Bette, there's not enough time for that. Besides, this is just an evaluation, right?"

Still serious, but giving nothing of her own thoughts away, Lindells nodded. "Okay. Then what about Yann? Would you have a problem with me speaking to him tonight while you sleep?"

Lorne felt himself pale. "Do I have a choice?"

"Of course you do. I don't have to speak with him, but finding out why he exists and what sparked his creation could help to ascertain what methods will be needed in treating you."

Lorne considered this. He didn't really like it, but he also knew she knew what she was doing.

Seeing his reluctance, Lindells spoke up. "I don't have to wait until you're asleep. We can use hypnosis to bring him out."

Shaking his head, Lorne told her, "While I'm asleep is fine. If you think you can get anything useful, knock yourself out."

"Sounds like a plan. In the meantime, since you're not ready to discuss what happened, let's cover some basics. You up for it?"

Now being back in territory he was more familiar and comfortable with, Lorne grinned and nodded. "Sure thing. I just hope it isn't as long as that last one the SGC made us all do a few years ago."

Bette grimaced. "No, it's worse. And I wouldn't use it at all if I didn't have to. But, well, it serves its purpose."

Nodding again, Lorne just hoped they'd be done by lunch time.

~o~o~o~

Since his session with Doctor Lindells was private, the observation room and isolation rooms were off limits to everyone until she came out. Even the camera had been turned off for the hours she spent in there. Breathing a shared sigh of relief at the end of the exhaustive questionnaire, the two of them finally stood up and stretched. Left alone again in his isolation room, Lorne again wondered what he would do to fill the time. What he hadn't known was the string of visitors that had come to see him that had been turned away by the guards. Now that word had gotten out that he was awake and able to receive visitors other than command staff, people had queued up to see him.

Lorne couldn't even imagine just how many visitors he was about to have now that word had spread. The first, of course, had been his team. Beckett had initially wondered if having all three of them in there with Lorne at the same time was a good idea. But, after a couple of minutes seeing the four of them together from his vantage point in the observation room, he breathed a sigh of relief. This early on, they had no way of knowing what would trigger an episode or reaction, and Carson had no desire to push the Colonel any further than was needed.

Turning his attention back to Lindells and her initial evaluation results, he left the four of them to their reunion.

~o~o~o~

Wondering how much longer until lunch, Lorne stretched for a bit. After having sat with Lindells for so long he was again feeling cooped up. He was just contemplating what kind of exercises he could get away with considering his casted left arm when he heard the door open again behind him. Turning around, he felt his mood lifting immediately as his eyes fell on his three partners in crime, otherwise known as his team.

"Hey, guys!"

Instantly their nervousness faded away visibly and they broke into smiles in return. Clearly they had been uncertain as to what reaction they would receive. And, of course, there was always the lingering guilt from their last mission together.

"What? Did you guys think I was going to go schitzo on you?" Lorne chuckled.

"No, sir," Shingleton spoke up, only half-serious. "Just figured you'd probably have a few choice words for us."

Lorne chuckled again as he crossed his arms. "Well, obviously you got Sheppard's team out. What else is there to say besides 'good job'? You didn't seriously come to see me after my return from the dead just to ask for a pat on the back, did you?"

"No, sir," they chimed.

Making a face, Lorne groaned and shook his head. "You guys are making this way too awkward. Drop the formality. I'm not even a Colonel anymore."

Three grins passed between them before they all finally relaxed a bit. Waving toward a convenient spot on the floor, Lorne motioned them to all sit and relax. He just hoped any other visits he got today would be less awkward, initially, though he doubted it. By now all of Atlantis knew of his return from the dead, and his mental condition.

Following his team had been just about everyone he'd ever worked with. Far from feeling bored or cooped up, Lorne found himself almost wishing for a break from the steady stream of visitors. But, considering what they suffered in his absence, he knew they needed to see him for themselves to believe he really was back from the dead. Much as Carson had gone through in the early days, people needed to see and take time to process what had happened. For all the strange technology and other things they worked with, including alternate universes, it wasn't everyday people just came back from the dead. Aside from Doctor Daniel Jackson who seemed to have made a hobby of it, it was still pretty uncommon.

By dinner time he found himself blessedly alone with his own thoughts. It was good to see so many familiar faces, but it was hard, too. It was always in the forefront of his thoughts that this may very well be the last time he saw any of them. He wasn't sure exactly when they were sending him back to Earth, but he knew it wouldn't be much longer. It was enough that Mister Woolsey had given him and the rest of Atlantis those few days. Lorne was grateful, though a part of him was ready to move on and get it over with. Though he'd never admit it to all the happy faces he'd seen today, it hurt enough he just wanted to either be left alone or shipped out now.

Putting aside his half-eaten tray, Lorne stood and stretched again. Those abused muscles finally stopped protesting in such a painful way, making him sigh with relief. Glancing around the room he contemplated another jog before bed time. And, tonight, he knew they were going to make him sleep since Lindells wanted to experiment with what she could find out from Yann. Before he had a chance to further contemplate this, the door to the isolation room opened yet again. Setting aside those thoughts, he turned to find Sheppard waving a familiar object in his general direction.

"I brought you a present. And if you're well-behaved, I might even bring you crayons."

"Hey, don't underestimate the value of crayons," he commented, flipping through the pages of the sketch book. "This was the last one I was working on before…that mission."

"Your sister gave it to me at the funeral. Seriously, video games?"

Lorne chuckled, flipping through the pages of various areas of the city he'd sketched in the hopes of painting later. "I can't believe this made it out past SGC security. Besides, I had to come up with some kind of cover in case one of my doodles ever got around. Video games was as good as anything."

"You better just hope she never sees you actually playing a video game. She'll see right through that in a second," Sheppard shot back, rocking on his heels in amusement.

"You're right, I'll just tell her I design them as a hobby," Lorne shot back, still feeling the sting of that long ago and humiliating defeat. "Thanks for this. Got any pens or pencils?"

Pulling out a fist full of both, Sheppard held them out of reach of the shorter man, earning an irritated look. "What about that hundred I supposedly owe you?"

Evan blinked in surprise and very nearly laughed. "Is that how this works? Give me a sketch book and then scam me for a hundred bucks over a handful of pens?"

"I wouldn't exactly call it scamming. But, if that's how you feel…" John said, putting the collection of writing utensils back in his pocket.

"You are so juvenile," he said, still smiling. "That's okay, I'll wait until I get back to Earth and just send your brother a letter about your unpaid debts."

With a grimace he handed over the pens and pencils. "That's a low blow."

"No more so than your attempt at extortion."

"It's not extortion. It's negotiation."

Both of them laughed at that one before Evan thanked him sincerely. If anything was going to get his mind off his present circumstances, even for a little while, this would be it. John just waved it off and headed back out of the isolation room. Happily occupied with his second-favorite hobby, Lorne took a seat in a convenient corner and contemplated his next sketch.

~o~o~o~

For a few hours Lorne sketched away everything he could remember of Atlantis. Just for a little while he was allowed to forget where he was and why. But, all too soon, reality came crashing back in on him as a doctor and a couple of nurses came in to tie him down for the night. He knew Lindells would be watching tonight, hoping to talk to Yann; and the thought made him sick. Closing up his sketchbook, he almost considered going without sleep tonight, but quickly rejected the idea. He knew that would come off as uncooperative at the very least. Yet, he couldn't deny that he was terrified of sleep. He had no desire to give that…thing…in his head control for any amount of time.

With a sigh, he set down the sketchbook and hopped up onto the gurney. Within minutes he was again alone with his thoughts, and not even something to keep his hands occupied. Physically he was exhausted, but his mind raced. The last thing he remembered as he finally drifted off to sleep, sometime later, was the sickening smile and wicked laugh of the Wraith queen.

~o~o~o~

Colonel Lorne wasn't sure anymore if it had been days or weeks. Being underground, there was no visible way to tell. And, since the Wraith queen was constantly healing him, he felt no thirst or hunger, either. But that wasn't even the worst of what had messed with his sense of time. Those seemingly brief respites when he was left naked and alone in his cell to sleep away the hours were interspersed with eternities spent in her presence. Since the first days when she had tried to covert him by feeding and then restoring him, and even tried using the euphoria of the restoration to get him to answer, it had become a game to her.

She was no longer frustrated by Lorne giving the same response over and over and over again. Now it was a game to see how many times he could say it before his screams caused him to become a mindless bundle of misery screaming wordlessly. Instead of using her telepathic ability to try to coerce him, she began to probe him for other things. It had taken her a matter of seconds to learn of his fear of burning alive. In one of his weaker moments she'd managed to bring out images of the day his father had died in a house fire; stumbling out of the house engulfed in flames only to die on the front lawn as firefighters arrived.

And so a new game began. She would ask. He would respond. If it wasn't the answer she wanted, he burned. She had some sort of device that, without flame, would set anything it touched afire. She usually started with his extremities. Her particular favorite was his feet. He seemed to scream so much more quickly when she started there. But then it would move inward. Typically by the time she'd gone through his legs and arms, he was too far gone to even really respond anymore. So she would heal him and send him back to his cell until he showed signs of cognizance again.

In the early days he comforted himself with memories of all the people he had known. Lorne hoped his sister didn't grieve for him too long. He hoped the strain on his mother wasn't enough to push her into another heart attack. He remembered all the days he'd spent playing with his nephews and how tiny and fragile they had seemed the first time he got to hold them. That one usually left him sobbing. But it was those memories in particular that kept him going.

He'd tried to kill himself in every way he could imagine. Each and every time the queen would heal him and laugh in sheer enjoyment. She often encouraged him to keep trying to kill himself, in the hopes he would give her something new and creative to play with.

After fire she had found acid to be just as fun, and a lot more messy. She enjoyed watching his flesh bubble and melt away, often leaving exposed bone she would tap and play with just to increase his horror. Though this brought on screams more quickly, it also left him nearly insensate with horror that much faster, as well. Watching his flesh slough off his arm and splatter on the floor at his feet was more than his mind could handle.

Through it all, he hung on to that one response. Over and over and over. He never allowed his mouth to open unless he was sure it was those words that would come out. In his mind he was begging for mercy, for death, for an end to the pain. But verbally all that came out was that same litany he'd started with.

As the memories of his former life on Atlantis faded further and further from memory as the days rolled into what he was certain were weeks, he held on to that one thing. It was all he had of himself, of his life. He prayed it would be the last words he ever spoke.

 _Evan Lorne. Lieutenant Colonel, United States Air Force. Five seven three nine eight two one eight. May sixth nineteen seventy. Evan Lorne. Lieutenant Colonel, United States Air Force. Five seven three nine eight two one eight. May sixth nineteen seventy._


	15. Chapter 14

**Chapter Fourteen**

In the observation room above, Doctor Lindells used the laptop and camera stationed in the isolation room to watch and listen to Lorne's every move and every word as he fell asleep. She wondered if he was even aware he was whispering his resistance to interrogation response over and over as he drifted off. As his lips stopped moving and his breathing began to slow she prepared to head down to the isolation room. Just before he fell into obvious sleep, though, he said one last thing that made her sigh sadly for him.

"I am Evan…"

Shaking her head, not liking what she was sure to find out next, Lindells took her tablet down to the isolation room. Trying to ignore just how tired she was, signaling once again that he was getting too old for all-nighters, she grabbed a chair and nodded to the guard just inside the room. Per the previous instructions issued by Beckett, the guard nodded back and then exited the room. Lindells settled in to wait for Yann to awaken, half hoping he wouldn't.

After about thirty minutes, her patience was rewarded. She watched closely as Lorne's eyes opened and looked around in confusion. Standing up so she would be within his range of vision, she looked down into those blue eyes.

"My name is Doctor Bette Lindells. Who are you?"

"Yann."

Smiling, she replied, "It's good to meet you, Yann. Can you tell me where you are?"

He shook his head. "You have to let me go. I have to get back to her."

Ignoring this, she told him, "You are on Atlantis."

Those blue eyes widened in surprise, but he said nothing.

"Do you know why you're here?"

He shook his head.

"The body you are inhabiting is not yours. It belongs to Evan Lorne."

The already pale face twisted in rage. "No! He's dead! I am Yann! This is my body! My life belongs to my goddess!"

"Calm down. I'm just wanting to find out how much you know. So you are aware of the other person."

His chest heaving as he subtly tested the restraints, Yann shook his head violently. "He's dead. My goddess gave me life."

"Why do you think he's dead?"

"He couldn't handle it. He was weak. He didn't want to have what our goddess offered. She is life!"

"So he created you?"

"No! My goddess did!"

Lindells nodded. "So you are aware of his existence and deny it?"

"Yes! Even he knows he was supposed to die. She gave me life because he was too pathetic to be of any use to her."

"And how are you useful to her now that you're here on Atlantis?"

Suddenly Yann smiled in a way that sent chills down her spine. "I will give her Atlantis."

Covering her discomfort, Lindells forced a laugh. "Not likely."

For a moment his face twisted in rage again, before turning calm again. Turning his head away from her, he whispered something.

"What was that?"

"…care…me."

Moving closer, Lindells leaned down slightly to hear. "I can't hear you. You have to speak up."

Turning his face back toward her, he quirked a smile and again said something too softly for her to make out. Leaning just a tiny bit closer, she gripped the side rails of the gurney for balance. Before she had a chance to even realize what was happening, Yann's left arm slipped out of the short cast and gripped her by the hair. The last thing she remembered was the sensation of the gurney's rail being slammed into her face repeatedly.

~o~o~o~

"For God's sakes, Doctor! It's a broken nose and a concussion; not a broken leg. I'm perfectly capable of walking," Lindells growled at the young Doctor Warren.

"Of that I have no doubt," he shot back with a grin. "But you and I both know what Doctor Keller would do to me if I didn't follow procedure."

"Then get me Doctor Beckett," she snapped, knowing she had no right to take out her frustrations on Warren.

"Sure thing. But, first, I'm going to get you back to your own bed, in this chair. Otherwise, you're not leaving this room," he told her, standing back and crossing his arms as if willing to wait out the end of time.

Frustrated as she was, Lindells knew when she had lost. With another growl she allowed the younger doctor to help her into the wheelchair. She had to admit, sitting did make her head hurt much less; even if the motions of the wheelchair made her dizzy. Closing her eyes against the combination of massive headache and drugs making her dizzy, she waited for her arrival back in the infirmary. In the corridor just outside of the radiology section Beckett, thankfully, found her.

"Here she is, Doc," Warren said as if presenting a gift. "All in one piece, literally."

Beckett's pallor and pinched expression lessened slightly at the good news. Lindells, trying to shake off the effects of the pain killers so she could focus tuned out whatever it was the two talked about briefly. She already knew her nose was broken and no splints needed. The concussion had been mild and she'd be over it in a few hours to a couple of days. Her primary concern right now wasn't for herself, though. Once Beckett sent Warren off with another task, Lindells took advantage of their distraction to stand up.

"Just what do ye think ye're doing?" Beckett started the moment he caught her out of her wheelchair.

"I'm going to see Evan," she told him, bluntly.

Beckett's expression surprised her when his lips thinned and he scowled darkly. Before he had a chance to say anything, however, she cut him off.

"I know what I'm doing, Doctor. I have a right to see my patient."

"Aye, but he has just as much right to refuse visitors."

"What?"

The dark rings under his eyes being that much more pronounced with his lack of sleep, Beckett scowled again. "Sit down, Doctor. I'll take you to the observation room, myself."

Never doubting him, she carefully sat back down and closed her eyes as the dizziness of the motion set in. Instead she listened to Beckett's update.

"Evan woke three hours ago. He knew something had happened when he felt the after effects of the stunner. He refused to calm down until someone would tell him what happened. Colonel Sheppard had me brought in after Doctor Renton had showed him the footage."

"And?" she prompted.

"That's it. Aside from medical staff and command staff, he's refusing visitors. We fitted him with a permanent cast above the elbow so he can't escape the restraints again, and he's back in the isolation room."

Slamming her hand down on the arm of the wheelchair in frustration, Lindells allowed herself to be wheeled back to the infirmary. Catching sight of her bed she sighed in resignation. She really was feeling lousy. Maybe once the drugs were out of her system she would be able to focus enough to get back to Lorne and convince him to let her continue her work.

"Don't even think about it, Doctor," Beckett warned, as if reading her thoughts.

With an unhappy grunt, Bette managed to get herself out of her chair and back into her hospital bed. For the time being, there was little she could do.

~o~o~o~

Waking up to find he'd been stunned and there was a small pool of blood being cleaned up beside his gurney had left Lorne looking like he was going to be sick. His only relief had been knowing he hadn't killed Doctor Lindells. Even then, just knowing hadn't been enough. He'd had to see the footage for himself.

Sheppard had finally given in and had a laptop brought down from the observation room. Whatever reaction he'd been expecting out of his former XO, the sudden wide-eyed panic he'd seen before Lorne essentially shut down on him wasn't it. Still staring at the laptop screen long after Sheppard had paused it, he'd had to grip Lorne by the shoulder and shake him before he could get any response at all. When he did, those blue eyes were sad and distant. Aside from the obvious guilt Lorne was feeling over the incident, he couldn't even begin to guess what was going on behind those eyes. But he knew something had changed.

Finally coming back to the present, he requested Sheppard leave and inform Beckett that he wanted no more visitors. Whatever had gone on in his head, something had just ended, and Sheppard knew it. Nothing he could say would talk Lorne out of it, either; though he did try. Apparently trying to get his friend to come around and realize he wasn't responsible for what had happened had been the wrong thing to say; because at that point he'd requested to meet with Doctor Woolsey.

Now he watched from the observation room as Lorne sat in a corner of the isolation room with his sketchbook staring off into a darkness only he could see. His hands were still.

~o~o~o~

Having seen the footage and hearing Yann's words hadn't just made Lorne feel sick, and even disgusted with himself; but had shocked the memories back into focus. Yann had been right. He was too weak to hold up. He didn't know how long it had gone on, but eventually he had snapped. God help him, she'd broken him.

~o~o~o~

Fire, acid, carnivorous animals, poison…the list of torture methods the Wraith queen had employed seemed to just go on and on. As she grew bored with one method, she moved on to another and another. Lorne had finally found a hope to hold on to. As she continued to flip from one torture method to another, taking him to the brink of death, he knew it was just a matter of time before she got bored enough to let it go too far and he would die. Finally, he had something to look forward to. In the meantime, he gave the same response to every question, every demand, and every seductively cooed request. And he screamed; sometimes he even screamed his responses. Though, he was certain at one point he had even screamed pleas for mercy, begging her to end it.

It didn't matter anymore. All that mattered was that he hadn't given her what she wanted and that she would soon tire of her toy and let him die. Those two things he clung to, even as he felt his sanity unraveling inch by painful inch day after day.

Then the game had changed, completely. He'd been lying sobbing on the floor his cell, shivering and naked after a recent round of poisoning, when the Hivemaster came for him. He hadn't even fully recovered his sanity from the last round when the Hivemaster grabbed a fist full of his now long hair and dragged him down the corridors since he couldn't walk due to his tremors.

In the queen's throne room his arms were tied to a metal bar that kept him suspended off the ground enough that only his toes touched the floor. To the left of her throne stood a small pack of about a dozen terrified people with a couple of warriors keeping stunners trained on them. This time she didn't ask him anything. To his horror, he realized she was going to make them—children and all—watch whatever it is she did to him. Closing his eyes so he would not have to see their reactions, he waited.

He didn't have to wait long. She had apparently decided on a much quicker, more visceral approach. In seconds she had sliced his abdomen open from naval to sternum. Too horrified by what was happening, Lorne couldn't even scream as she set aside the knife to begin pulling out his internal organs. The sound of his intestines hitting the pool of blood under his feet with a sickening plop had already left him numb mentally. His mind refused to believe that this could be happening while he was still alive, even if he knew better.

At some point she restored him just enough to regain some sense of his current surroundings. She had forced him to open his eyes. Still confused, but becoming more aware by the moment, he found himself staring into her clearly pleased face.

"Now, you will pick one."

"Evan Lorne. Lieutenant—"

The slap had been vicious enough to make his head snap back.

"Pick one of them. I will feed on them to restore you."

"Evan L—"

This time she stepped sideways a little so he could clearly see all the pale, horrified faces before she reached a hand into the still open wound making him cut off his words with a scream. Gagging and gasping as she removed her hand, Lorne prayed the darkness creeping around the edges of his vision would take him.

"I will not ask again. Which one will die to restore you?"

"Evan—"

This time she viciously backhanded him, leaving him reeling for a moment. As the stars cleared from his vision and screams penetrated the encroaching darkness he saw her feeding on a young woman. The queen had a fist full of her raven-black hair in one hand and had buried her other hand inside the woman's torn blouse to feed. It was over in seconds. She dropped the desiccated husk to the floor and turned to plant her feeding hand on his chest.

Lorne's instinctive revulsion made him struggle to move away from her touch, but it was no use. This time there was no euphoria, no warmth, no coaxing, just the sensation of his insides being rearranged as he was healed. Before he'd even had a chance to register it was over, the queen had reached into the group and grabbed a young man by the throat.

"No! Stop! Leave them alone, you bitch!"

He wasn't even sure where the words had come from. And he would have taken them back, if he could. It was the first words he'd spoken in her presence aside from the litany in all this time that he could recall. And he knew he'd just made the worst mistake ever. He cursed himself knowing he'd just damned them all. He'd given her yet another tool to use against him; only this one would cost those innocent people their lives.

Her wicked smile made his heart stop as the realization of what was about to happen settled in. He felt the tears stinging the back of his eyes as he shook his head in denial of what he'd just done. But it was too late. The damage had been done. Three more desiccated corpses hit the ground in rapid succession before she smiled at him in satisfaction. She must have given a mental command to the warriors, because they began shoving the small group of people out the door as she stepped toward him.

"Tell me what I want to know and I will spare them," she purred seductively, making his stomach lurch sickeningly as she caressed his chest. "Where is Atlantis?"

"Evan Lor—"

This time the words were interrupted by a slap followed by laughter.

"Good. Your compassion hasn't weakened you completely. But now I have a new game. These people have decided they no longer want to worship me. You will help me remind them what happens when I am betrayed. And I now have another game to play with you, too, my pet. You want to be my pet forever, don't you?"

"Evan Lorne. Lieutenant Colonel, United—"

Still smiling, she walked away as a couple of warriors approached. They took him down roughly, not concerning themselves with any damage they were inflicting and then dragged him away. He felt a lump of ice form in his gut when he realized he was being dumped into the cell with the other humans.


	16. Chapter 15

**Chapter Fifteen**

Hearing the isolation room doors open, Lorne shook off these memories and stood up.

"Colonel Sheppard tells me you wished to see me, Colonel," Mister Woolsey stated, obviously keeping a safe distance.

"Mister. I'm not a Colonel anymore," Lorne told him tiredly. "And, yes, I would like to ask when you intend to inform the SGC of my current situation."

Woolsey's eyebrows shot up in curiosity, knowing Sheppard could have relayed this information without him. "Our next scheduled dial-in is in five days."

"And when is the Daedalus scheduled to return?"

"The Daedalus will be returning from Earth in two days. May I inquire as to your sudden interest?"

"I need out of Atlantis as soon as possible."

"Why the sudden urgency?"

Lorne sighed and ran a hand through his hair in frustration. "Look, I don't understand most of this myself. But…Yann…or whatever he…it is…in my head knows the address and location of Atlantis now. I can't explain it. But if he—I—managed to escape somehow, there is a real risk that Atlantis will be compromised. And I need to be moved to a prison cell. It's the only way to be safe."

"I'm sure Doctor Beckett knows what he's doing."

Lorne growled in frustration walking away before turning back. "He and Colonel Sheppard are both convinced that I am the Evan Lorne they knew. I'm not; at least, not entirely. You have no way of knowing what I'm capable of now, since I can't even tell you what all this Yann has done or learned. I'm telling you, if there's even a chance of escape, he'll take it. And, if that's not possible, he'll find a way to send a signal."

Woolsey seemed to contemplate this, but was still hesitant. "And you feel a prison cell is necessary?"

"Mister Woolsey, I was tortured trying to protect this city. If anyone here has the right to demand such a thing, it's me."

Heaving a sigh, Woolsey nodded decisively. "Very well, then. I'll make arrangements."

"Thank you, sir."

"For what it's worth, I'm sorry."

"There's nothing to be sorry for. Just get me out of Atlantis and the Pegasus Galaxy as soon as possible."

Woolsey just nodded sadly. "Is there anything else?"

"Just one other thing. No visitors. I'll allow Doctor Beckett and his staff for any medical needs. And Colonel Sheppard, if he must, to oversee security. But no one else. And, can you request that my family not be notified when you send word to the SGC?"

"Of course."

~o~o~o~

Woolsey was as good as his word. An hour later Lorne found himself lying on a cot in a prison cell surrounded by the torturous hum of the force field. Two guards stood just inside the door. Sheppard, having just arrived wore a look of total disbelief.

"This is bullshit, Evan. What the hell do you think you're doing?"

Lorne stared at the ceiling trying to ignore his former friend and commanding officer, but knowing it wouldn't get him anywhere. "Let it go, John."

"Like hell I will. Carson—"

Whatever he was about to say died on his lips as Lorne suddenly went from prone to mere inches from the humming wall of energy. The look in those cold blue eyes was something Sheppard had thought he would never see from that face. The bleak devastation was enough to stop any argument he had formulated.

"You have a city to protect, Colonel. I died months ago. I'm taking the first opportunity back to Earth that comes along. There, they can lock me away safely in a facility where I can't do anymore damage. Quit pretending things can go back to the way they were. You were long over it before all this, I'm sure. It's over. Let it go."

"Evan—"

Lorne waved him away in disgust as he flopped back down on the cot. "We're done. Don't come back."

Not even sure what to say anymore, Sheppard spun on his heel and left. Lorne feeling the sting of tears behind his closed eyes, took a deep, shuddering breath hoping that would be the last such encounter he would have to have. He'd been sincere in what he'd said. But what he hadn't told Sheppard or any of the others was that he didn't intend to live very long once he'd gotten back to Earth. He wouldn't cause them that kind of pain while he was here. But, he also knew he couldn't live with himself now that he remembered what he'd done and where Yann had come from.

~o~o~o~

Lorne had been thrown into the cell with the remaining nine people. He was still naked and coated in his own blood. At first they had all moved as far away from him as they could, staring at him in horror. He didn't care. Much as he craved some sort of human contact, he knew it would only make things worse; for him, and for them. But, as he forced himself to his hands and knees so he could crawl into a corner and curl up, a middle-aged man shrugged out of his coat and put it over Lorne. Kneeling down to help him move, the man introduced himself.

"My name is Lylar."

Lorne wanted to pull away, to push the man, to scream at him to leave him alone, anything that would drive the man away from him. Instead, he heard himself say, "I'm Evan."

"Thank you."

Now sitting on his knees, Lorne turned to the man in shock. "For what?"

"You defied her on behalf of my son."

Suddenly Lorne's hazy thoughts brought back the image of a young man the queen had fed on that had started this horrific spiral that would only end in further misery for them as well as himself. Nodding sadly, Lorne put his arms through the coat, surprised at how strange it felt to wear something akin to clothing again. "I shouldn't have. Now she knows she can use you all against me to get what she wants."

"It is their way. What is it she wants of you?"

He knew he should stop. He knew it was pointless to talk to them. He knew any kind of connection he made would only make it that much more painful when she fed on them to restore him, to torture him. Hugging himself, he shook his head. Part of him desperately craved this contact, despite the circumstances. The rest of his mind ran through scenarios, turning every one of those living faces into those twisted by pain as they were fed on. Trembling visibly, he tried to close them all out.

Suddenly a small pair of hands on either side of his face shocked him out of his thoughts. His eyes flew open just in time to see a young girl kissing him soundly on the forehead. Pulling back, she smiled brightly.

"Mommy always kisses it to make it better. Are you better now?"

Lorne felt something inside cracking. That angelic little face framed in raven colored hair he couldn't make wither and die as he had the others to remind himself that they were all dead. Taking a few deep breaths, he got himself under control as he nodded. The girl beamed a smile and patted him on the head before scampering off.

"Her mother was the first the queen fed on," Lylar explained making Lorne jump at realizing he was still beside him.

Lorne just nodded, not sure what to say, as he sat back with his legs crossed, buttoning the coat Lylar had given him. Lylar took up a similar position beside him. Ignoring the trembling in his hands, Lorne sighed heavily.

"She said you are from the city of the Ancestors."

Lorne winced, but nodded. "I was."

"So it is true, the great city has fallen."

He felt the blood drain from his face at this news. "When?"

The confusion on Lylar's face took a moment to register. "She said the city was destroyed and that is how she got you."

For several seconds Lorne's fuzzy thoughts struggled to process this. "She lied."

"So the city still stands?"

Lorne nodded, still feeling relief at knowing she had lied and Atlantis was still safe. "This is a ship-growing facility. We attacked and I…was left behind."

"Then why does she keep you alive?"

"Because she wants me to give her to location of Atlantis."

The man's pallor made Lorne think he was about to faint. Instead, he turned to the others. "He _is_ from the city of the Ancestors. It still stands, and he protects it. They still fight."

The sudden whispers of conversation stopped at these words. Everyone present looked on him with new respect bordering on reverence. Lylar was quick to explain, now excited. "Even on worlds such as ours that are controlled by the Wraith, word of your battle against them has spread, giving us all hope."

"The Ancestors sent you to us," one woman said, falling to her knees. "There is still hope."

Lorne shook his head, his blood turning to ice in his arteries at the worship he saw in her expression. "No. You don't understand. You'll all die. She'll use you against me, and against each other."

"But—"

His head all tangled up and his thoughts still fuzzy, Lorne shook his head more violently. Tuning them out, he scooted to a corner of the cell where he curled up with his back to them.

He must have fallen asleep at one point, because the next thing he knew he was waking from a dream that was more of a memory of his days in Atlantis. The sounds of terrified people all around him started him awake as the warriors returned to drag everyone out of the cell. When he stood up, the warriors shoved him back away from the others. He could only watch helplessly as they were forced down the corridor. Moments later another set of warriors appeared for him.

Today was the same as yesterday; only this time she seemed pleased to see him covered in a coat someone had given him. It was a clear sign that he had at least interacted with them. Lorne, struggling not to react kept his eyes averted from the small group as they cut the coat off of him and reconnected him to the bar to hang inches off the ground this time. Instead of starting with the others, she came over and caressed his chest.

"Have you considered my proposal?"

"Evan L—"

This time his words were cut off by three inches of metal slicing through his chest muscles. Again she cut, until the knife hit bone, stopping just below his sternum. Dropping the knife she smiled sadistically as she gripped the flesh and pulled both pieces to the side producing a sickening, wet sound that made Lorne gag on his own screams.

"Stop! Stop hurting him!" a squeal came from the group.

Lorne, lost in the pain, blinked several times. _Please no…_ he thought, as his mind caught up to events.

There were a couple of short screams as one woman tried to hold on to the little girl even as the Wraith queen gripped her by her hair causing her to scream in an ear-piercingly high wail.

"No! Stop! Let her go!" Lorne managed to croak weakly. This could not be happening.

The queen froze. "Are you willing to obey me? Will you tell me what I want?"

Lorne felt something inside him cracking even further as he shook his head.

"Fine. I can be merciful. I will allow you to choose who will die so that I can give you the Gift of Life."

He was surprised that he even had the capacity to cry anymore. But he did. Through his tears he began again. "Evan Lorne. Lieutenant Colonel, United States Air Force…"

This time she didn't bother to stop him. Picking up where she had left off, she yanked the girl out of the woman's hands, both of them screaming. Having sensed there was something there she could use, the queen held the screaming girl up to Lorne's face as she began to feed. His wordless screams mingled with hers as he watched her tiny, angelic face aging and dying before his eyes. Then the world faded away.

~o~o~o~

Yann woke on the floor of a prison cell surrounded by people. The pathetic, ragged bunch held his curiosity for no more than a second as he realized he didn't know who he was. He didn't know where he was. All he knew was that his name was Yann and that his goddess waited for him. He couldn't understand why he was in here with these others or how he'd gotten there. The others in the cell eyed him sadly as he backed into a corner. They seemed content to leave him alone and he felt the same.

After a while warriors eventually appeared to usher them out. He felt a strange sense of disappointment at being left behind, but he knew his goddess would come for him eventually. Yann fidgeted as he waited for his turn. When the warriors finally came for him, he couldn't help the nervous anticipation that had him practically bouncing by the time they led him into the throne room. Even before they got all the way to the front of the throne room, Yann threw himself on the ground at her feet.

"Thank you, Mistress. I am not worthy to be in your presence."

"So, you have learned proper respect, I see," she stated happily.

Two warriors stepped up to haul him up by his arms roughly. Though he kept his eyes on the floor as was proper, she placed a long-nailed finger under his chin and tilted his head up until he faced her. "Where is Atlantis?"

Trembling, Yann began to weep. The idea of disappointing his goddess was a horror to him, but he couldn't understand. He didn't know what she was talking about. "I'm sorry, Mistress. I don't know."

She blinked in surprise before her face twisted in fury. "Liar! Tell me where it is!" she screamed, clawing his face with her wickedly long nails.

"I don't know, Mistress! Please—"

Yann had no idea how long the beating went on. Over and over he was forced to disappoint his goddess since he couldn't give her what she wanted. She kicked him, beat him, stabbed him, sliced him, and even burned him. He knew he deserved every bit of it and more. Through his screams he told her how unworthy he was to even be her pet. Eventually she wore herself out. His goddess stood over him, her chest heaving with her breaths as he lay sobbing pathetically on the floor, certain every bone had been broken.

"I'm sorry, Mistress," he said into the floor, unable to move. "I'm not worthy. Kill me."

This seemed to spark something in her. Grabbing a fist full of his hair in one hand and a knife in the other, she hauled him up to his knees and put the knife to his throat.

"Who are you?" she asked, her eyes blazing furiously.

"Yann, Mistress."

"Who is Yann?"

"Yann is your pet, Mistress," he wailed through his tears. "I am a bad pet. I have disappointed you. Please, kill me, Mistress. I cannot live with the shame."

The confusion in her expression was clear. Moving the knife away from his throat, she pointed to the still-watching group of humans huddled in the far corner. "Pick one. Which one will die to save your pathetic life?"

The thought of disobeying never crossed his mind. "The old man in the front."

Again she blinked in speechless shock. Releasing her hold on his hair, he fell sideways onto a multitude of broken bones with a whimper. A moment later she stood over him with the old man in her grip, feeding on him. Then she knelt down and placed a hand to his chest. The healing was painful, but the idea that she had had to exert herself to restore him hurt all the more.

"I'm not worthy, Mistress…" he whimpered.

"You're not. Now pick another one to die."

This time he was able to at least turn his head. "The young woman with black hair on the right."

The queen smiled. A minute later the woman was dead. This game continued until she was satisfied. Afterward, she had the warriors lead the people while Yann stood before her.

"Where do you come from…Yann?"

"You gave me life, Mistress."

"Did I?"

"Yes, Mistress."

"And before that?"

Trembling, the tears starting again, Yann swallowed thickly before replying. "I'm sorry, Mistress. I do not know. There is no life before you, Mistress."

"Very good, Yann," she cooed, brushing her hand through her hair.

Yann instinctively leaned into her touch as she continued to pet him. He practically purred in content, shivering at the almost electric tingling of her touch. "Thank you, Mistress."


	17. Chapter 16

**Chapter Sixteen**

For two days Lorne was mostly left alone in his prison cell waiting to return to Earth. Neither Carson nor John had returned to make any attempts at conversation. The guards ensured he got his food and that he was properly restrained at night so he wouldn't hurt himself when Yann came out. Alone with his memories, both old and new, Lorne spent most of the time sketching. Just as his sister had left this sketchbook with Sheppard, he intended it to be left behind. It was all he had left. He poured into it every memory of every corridor, every tower, every pier, and every room of Atlantis he could remember. Counting down the days to his return to Earth, he was content to leave this behind; so someone could remember him and better days long lost.

~o~o~o~

"I understand your frustration, Colonel," Mister Woolsey said with as much patience as he had left. "But Colonel—excuse me— _Mister_ Lorne has made his decision. In the meantime, I need you and your team to see to the new settlement on M six G nine five one."

"Major Bowler can handle that."

"Colonel, I have tried to be patient. Unless you intend to put in for an official leave of absence, or are submitting yourself to Doctor Lindells for evaluation, you are to resume your duties immediately. This new settlement has asked for you and your team, specifically."

For a moment, Sheppard looked like he was going to walk out, just to spite the expedition leader. But he knew better. Woolsey was right. Shaking off whatever rebellious ideas he was formulating in the back of his mind he refocused his attention.

"Why us?"

"I don't know. What we do know is that Captain Jordan returned from M six G nine five one saying there is a new settlement forming. They claim to be refugees from a planet culled by the Wraith."

"Claim to be?"

"They are refusing to give us the gate address to their home planet, but have agreed to give it to you only. However, I see no reason why they would lie. They asked for you and your team specifically to represent Atlantis in trade talks. They are desperate for supplies and willing to supply labor. They've also requested medical assistance. Doctor Beckett has graciously volunteered to go in Doctor Keller's absence."

"Jennifer will be back with the Daedalus tomorrow."

"I'm well aware of that, Colonel. But there is no reason to take her away from her official duties here in the city when Doctor Beckett is available and, currently, without a base of operations. While he is looking for a safe place to take up his practice again, we can use his expertise specific to this galaxy."

"Understood. Anything else?"

"Have your team ready in one hour. I want your team to check it out. If all goes well, Doctor Beckett can follow shortly after."

"Yes, sir."

Watching Colonel Sheppard march out of his office stiffly, Woolsey shook his head. At this point, despite the circumstances, he would be glad to see Mister Lorne off through the gate and away from the city; if for no other reason than to see something of normalcy return to his military commander.

~o~o~o~

Still mentally growling to himself, Sheppard glanced around at his team one more time before they stepped through the gate. He'd had too much time on his hands already with having tried to talk Lorne around. He knew when he'd been ignored and then overridden. And Woolsey was right, Lorne had every right to determine his treatment and care; both here and on Earth. But that didn't mean he had to like it.

Getting his head out of that situation, and maybe spending some time off-world for a while would help him refocus his attention where it belonged. There was nothing more he could for his friend right now. And he knew all too well that being distracted on even a milk run of a mission could get someone killed. Heaving a sigh, he stared for a moment at the watery event horizon. Some part of him still felt that thrill of going through the gate to a new world for the first time. But, this time, it was dampened by the knowledge of what he was walking away from and how little choice he had in the matter.

Again he shook off these thoughts and firmly focused on the task ahead. With a nod to the others he led the way through the gate. As always, Sheppard was on his guard as he and his team stepped through the gate. He expected anything, even on a planet he'd visited a hundred times. This time was no exception. But no amount of preparedness would have prevented what happened next.

The moment he stepped through the other side of the event horizon his eyes were assaulted by unnaturally bright sunlight. He heard McKay's groan and Teyla's gasp as the sudden brightness shocked them all. But, even as he shielded his eyes with his one free hand to try to make out anything in the painful light, he could hear the whine of Ronon's gun coming to the ready. Not sure what they were in for, but trusting Ronon's instincts, he brought his gun up squinting into the light. An instant later the threat made itself known by the sound of several Wraith stunners going off simultaneously. Moving based on sound and instinct alone, he fired off a couple of shots as he dove to the side toward McKay. He heard Teyla and Ronon doing the same even as he collided with a stunned, falling McKay.

During the seconds in which this had taken place, Sheppard's brain began to make sense of what little his eyes could see. Despite the sun being unnaturally bright, it by no means accounted for the painful brightness that stabbed their eyes. The painful levels came from a white mist that spread itself about four feet above the ground, concealing several darker shapes within. The sunlight was reflecting off the mist as effectively as a mirror, doubling the amount of light hitting his eyes.

Even as he landed next to McKay, a sudden silence came crashing down as all those shadowy, crouching figures in the mist suddenly collapsed. Having rolled to his feet instinctively, he held his breath waiting for whatever came next; fully expecting literally anything at this point.

"When nothing happened he called out, "Ronon? Teyla?"

"We are fine, John," Teyla replied as Ronon grunted.

Slowly Sheppard looked around, never taking his eyes off that creepy mist. "Rodney's stunned."

Another grunt from Ronon as he and Teyla moved closer, also not taking their eyes off the two dozen or so prone figures in the mist.

"Anyone want to tell me what the hell just happened?"

As if responding to his request, a tendril of mist began to snake its way toward him. Instantly Ronon's gun came up again. The hairs on the back of Sheppard's neck stood on end as he brought his own gun up, something tickling the back of his mind.

"Ronon, wait," Teyla hissed. "John, I—"

She froze with a brief gasp as the tendril of mist suddenly snapped over to her, stopping inches from her face. What happened next left Sheppard slack-jawed in realization of what they were seeing. A thicker part of the mist at the end of the tendril condensed into an orb and then took on the appearance of Teyla's face. A moment later it was Teyla's voice they heard coming from the mist.

"You know of my kind?"

After blinking in surprise, Teyla slowly nodded. "I believe we have encountered you before."

As the itch in the back of Sheppard's mind exploded into understanding, he eyed the thing warily. "Your…people tried to kill us once."

The mist face turned to Sheppard, taking on his form. "I see your memories. They were only protecting themselves, as you are now."

"What the hell is it?" Ronon finally asked, never taking his gun off the thing.

"They are beings made of mist and energy," Teyla explained, hesitantly.

"I intend no harm," it said, backing off and letting go of its human faces. "I only wish to prevent more violence."

Even knowing this thing could be in his head making all of this up, Sheppard sensed something of truth in that statement. "Why?"

He sensed a flicker of…something emotional in the next statement, "You would not understand."

With a grunt, Sheppard lowered his P90, signaling the others to do the same. Ronon hesitated a moment longer, and lowered his, but would not holster it.

"Try me," the Colonel said. "And stay out of my head."

"I cannot do both. I am only able to speak audibly to you when using my energy, which is spread thin enough attempting to keep them unconscious."

"Why did they attack us?"

The entity must have sensed that Sheppard wanted his answer more than he wanted the thing to stay out of his head; because a moment later he felt the world fade away for a split second as he was taken through the events of the last few days from the perspective of the entity as it watched the people plotting. Glancing to Ronon and then to Teyla who was checking on McKay, they both nodded to his silent question. They had all seen the same thing.

These people had been telling the truth. Their planet had been culled. But they had also been Wraith worshippers. Their people had somehow disappointed their queen. When the first team came through the gate, headed up by Major Jordan, the people had initially welcomed them. But, within hours of their departure, a majority of these pitiful survivors had taken it into their head to regain favor with their Wraith queen by offering up Sheppard and his team, along with anyone else from Atlantis they could capture alive. But dead was good, too.

Through the "eyes" of the entity, they had seen the whole plot being laid out in a crude hut. Any dissenters had been swiftly silenced in a brutal fashion that left no doubt to what lengths these people would go to regain their status. Sheppard eyed the bodies he could see in the mist to ensure for himself that they were indeed alive and breathing before turning his attention back to the ball of mist at the end of the tendril.

"You still haven't answered my question. Why help us?"

Images of lifetimes of violence, hate, pain, and suffering from billions of people flashed through their minds, leaving Sheppard staggering for a moment. Shaking his head trying to regain some semblance of the present he glared warningly at the entity.

"What the hell was that?"

The voice that came back apparently headed his unspoken warning to again stay out of his head, but it was soft and distant this time. "It is what I have seen in my travels."

"So, you want me to believe that as a non-corporeal entity that you want to stop physical violence?" Sheppard asked incredulously.

Again the voice came from the mist, almost too faint to hear. "You are wounded. You know the price of violence."

"What?" Sheppard asked, confused, suddenly wondering if he was actually conscious at all or if this was all another illusion as had been the last encounter he'd had with these entities.

A moment later he was no longer aware of his body gasping in shock as the images of so many incidences of violence in his life that had left him emotionally scarred replayed in his mind. Though he would never admit it to anyone, even himself, some of those still kept him up at night shaking and covered in sweat from the nightmares, or even just pacing the dark confines of his quarters. Not the least of which was what had now become of one of his closest friends. When he next became aware of his surroundings, Ronon again had his gun aimed at the concentrated ball of mist. Blinking several times he found Teyla only inches in front of him, a deeply concerned look in her eyes. Only then did he begin to realize his racing heart, stuttering breathing, and shaking hands.

Pulling himself together, he motioned for Ronon to lower his weapon and nodded to Teyla to signal he was fine. But the anger that usually rose to counter such instances of pain had abandoned him now. With an effort, he forced himself to calm.

"Point taken. So what now?"

The entity had either used up too much of itself, or had giving up on audible speech altogether. A moment later all four of them were sitting around an old, aged wooden table in a rough stone building. Though there were no torches or candles or other light sources, the place was comfortably, if not soothingly lit to their still aching eyes. At the opposite end of the table sat a young man of indeterminate age and utterly unremarkable features. It was the kind of drab vision of a person that is forgotten seconds after they are out of sight.

"What the hell?" McKay asked, looking around in confusion as Ronon jumped up aiming his gun at the young.

"Calm down, Rodney," Sheppard snapped. "Ronon!"

"Calm down?! I was just stunned! This isn't a Wraith cell!"

"Your bodies are safe, but I lack the energy to converse in your preferred method," the young man told them, the sense of exhaustion clear in his unremarkable features as he calmly sat down, ignoring Ronon's now empty hand.

"I said stay out of our heads," Sheppard warned, again.

"I'm not 'in your heads' as you put it. You are in mine."

Sheppard blinked, not quite sure what to say to that. "Okay. Sit down, Ronon. That's an order."

With a growl, Ronon finally did as Sheppard ordered; but his body language spoke of his desire to spring at the entity, even unarmed. Once everyone was settled, the entity eyed McKay, Sheppard, and Teyla piercingly.

"You three know of my people. I brought Doctor McKay into this because he knows the location of my home planet."

"I do?"

"The mist beings," Teyla supplied.

Rodney's blue eyes widened in fear. "What? No, no, no, no, no. We left you alone. Just like we said. We—"

"I have seen your memories. I am aware you have removed the Stargate, as you call it, with the blessing of my people. Thank you."

"Oh…well. You're welcome."

"That is why I have brought you all here. I need your help."

"Our help?" Sheppard asked, still not quite on board with this thing after what it had done to him.

"Yes. I want to go home."

The sense of loneliness and sadness very nearly overwhelmed them all.

"I wanted to see what corporeal life was like on worlds beyond our own. All we ever saw were small groups who killed hundreds, sometimes thousands of us, coming through the gate; only to leave disappointed at finding nothing. My people would not communicate with them. I wanted to know…more. So I followed a group of explorers through the gate many ages ago. I cannot count time as you do, since I do not have a physical existence. But it was long ago. I did not know the gate address to return home, once I had seen all I wanted. Worse, even if I had known, I have no body to manipulate the…DHD, you call it. I have wandered from world to world, hoping to find someone that could help me return home."

"You said it yourself. We took the gate from your world," Sheppard pointed out.

"To create a gate bridge between your galaxy and this one. Yes, and it has likely saved many of my people."

"Then how can we help?"

The young man smiled as if Sheppard was acting foolishly suspicious. But McKay saved him from having to state the obvious.

"The Daedalus. You want us to take you back on our ship."

"Yes."

Sheppard glanced around the table, getting a subtle nod from Teyla and an equally subtle shake of Ronon's head. Taking these into account, he considered the options and weighed the potential consequences. Again he eyed the entity suspiciously.

"Your thoughts are your own," he told them with a hint of a smile and his amusement permeating the room.

The Colonel grunted disbelievingly. "And if we say no?"

The entity sighed, the sadness weighing down on all of them. "Then I ask that you leave before the violence can continue."

"John…" Teyla started.

"No," Sheppard snapped, as much at her as at it. "Stop manipulating us!"

"I do no such thing. I have no other way to convey my feelings. Manipulating facial expressions is not always accurate."

"It's enough for us. We get along with it just fine."

"As you wish."

Sheppard continued to weigh the consequences on both sides as he stared fixedly at the table for a few seconds. While he had no real reason not to trust the…thing—after all, it did just save their asses—he still couldn't get over just how easily it could get in their heads, turn them inside out, and probably even control them without their knowledge. Hell, the last time he encountered them he'd found himself questioning his reality for weeks after; still not entirely convinced he wasn't in one of their little fantasies. Shaking his head, he turned to the image of a young man.

The facial features warped into such extreme sadness it was almost comical. "You've decided."

Sheppard couldn't help struggling against a grin. "You're right, human expressions are not your forte. And, no, not entirely. You know who we are and where we come from. There's a lot to consider, and I cannot make this decision without speaking to my people, first."

The young man's expression smoothed out to emotionless. "I cannot keep these people unconscious for very long without risking harm to their bodies."

"It won't take long. But you'll have to release all four of us."

"Understood. You will need to dial the gate?"

"Yes."

Now it frowned with such exaggeration that Sheppard found himself hard pressed not to laugh outright. "It will kill me if I am too close."

"Can you move away without them waking?" Teyla asked, genuine concern in her voice, if not her expression.

"No. Once I move away they will awaken quickly."

"Damn," Sheppard muttered, not liking the situation at all. Turning to his team, he again queried silently.

Again, Teyla nodded; and he trusted her instinct more than anyone. Again, Ronon shook his head. Though Sheppard valued his opinion, he did not have their prior experience. Finally he turned his attention on Rodney, who seemed to be off in a world of his own.

"Rodney?" he prompted, getting his attention.

"What?"

"What do you think?" Sheppard practically grated out.

"Oh, yeah, sure," he replied vaguely, setting off alarms in the Colonel's head.

"Sure what, McKay?"

Looking around, McKay very nearly blushed realizing he had pretty much tuned them all out. Catching up mentally in a flash, he shifted his attention from Sheppard to the entity and back again. "I mean, yes. We wanted to find a way to make friendly with them. This is as good as any."

Mentally growling, Sheppard wished he could be alone with the scientist; because something was definitely up. But, when McKay's blue eyes met his for the second time, he could see that there was something typically Rodney going on behind them that he was unwilling to share in front of the entity. And he had to take into account that McKay did seem on board with the idea of helping it.

Having finally made the decision he was pretty certain he was going to wind up making anyway, Sheppard turned back to the image of the young man at the other end of the table; only now he could see through it.

"What's wrong with you?"

"I am weakening. As I said, I cannot keep them unconscious without damaging them for long. Unless you would like me to kill them?"

"No."

The entity smiled. "That is why I trust you. You do not desire violence or death."

"Whatever. How are we going to do this?"

"I can move a safe distance from the gate, as it has its own power source. The moment I lose connection with them they will begin to awaken. You go through. You have a shield. You may use it to protect yourselves until I am able to follow. It will not harm me."

Sheppard glanced to the others. Ronon still seemed unhappy, but Teyla and Rodney seemed to think it was as good a plan as any.

"Doctor McKay will still be unconscious. I will give you a few moments to get ready before I release the others."

Before they could say anything else, the entity released them back into the harsh, overly bright sunlight. The initial assault was no less painful than the first time. After a few seconds of blinking and shading their eyes with their hands, Ronon scooped up McKay as Teyla moved to the DHD. Sheppard dug out his GDO and nodded he was ready. He looked over his shoulder just in time to see the mist condense into something the size of a golf ball and zip away into the trees. Not needing a verbal command, Teyla began dialing.

By the time the four of them ran through the gate, they were already hearing the shouts of confusion behind them. The moment Sheppard crossed the event horizon, he shouted to Chuck to raise the shield and keep the gate open. The seconds stretched on as the sound of impacts on the shield increased. He certainly hoped it was just the stunner blasts and nothing else. Though he would never admit it to anyone else, he was beginning to worry that maybe the thing had been wrong and the shield would stop it, even if not kill it.

"Colonel Sheppard! What—"

Before Mister Woolsey could ask what was going on, though, the gate suddenly shut down. With a gasp Sheppard turned to Chuck. "Who cut the connection?"

"Not on our end, sir," Chuck replied.

"Colonel—" Woolsey started again only to be interrupted by Teyla this time.

"John, look!"

Spinning back toward the gate they all saw a mist beginning to form behind the shield as it moved backward away from the gate. Even as Sheppard felt a hint of relief, the gate guards raised their weapons.

"Hold your fire!" he barked. "Mister Woolsey, we have a guest. We need to talk."


	18. Chapter 17

**Chapter Seventeen**

Taking in the confusion from all the faces in the gate room, Mister Woolsey's lips thinned. "I see this, Colonel. Would you care to make introductions?"

The mist coalesced into something of a transparent ball the size of a softball and drifted over to Sheppard. The sense of exhaustion he felt no doubt was it communicating its status, as it seemed unable to speak without getting into his head. Testing a theory he thought at it.

 _If you can talk telepathically, still, now would be a good time._

Something flickered in the back of his mind in return that Sheppard took to be acknowledgement, though he heard nothing. A moment later it drifted toward Woolsey who flinched only slightly. A moment later he nodded in return to whatever silent communication had taken place.

"I see," he said, glancing to Sheppard before turning back to it. "Welcome to Atlantis. I will contact Doctor Zalenka to see what he can do to assist." Turning back to Sheppard he continued, "Colonel, please see to your team and meet me in my office."

Sheppard nodded. Out of the corner of his eye he caught Ronon already heading toward the infirmary with McKay still in his arms. Apparently in all the confusion no one thought to call a medical team. Frowning darkly, he filed that away for a later time as the mist approached him once again, appearing even thinner than before. Teyla nodded with a light smile to let him know she was well and offered to take his equipment back to the locker room and armory. Quickly Sheppard divested himself of his tac vest and P90 before bounding up the steps to follow Woolsey into his office.

He found Woolsey opening the balcony doors at the back of the office as the entity drifted past them swiftly. Woolsey nodded graciously with a smile to the mist before moving back toward his desk to pick up his tablet. Not sure what this was all about, Sheppard repressed a brief image of the mist being blown away on the typical ocean winds of this planet.

"It says it can draw energy from the sun," Woolsey explained, having saved his work and returned the tablet back to its position on his desk.

"Oh…"

"And it wished me to relay to you that that is why it was so strong when you first arrived. It had been there for several months gaining energy before those people came."

"Oh."

"And, yes, it explained the relevant points. Once it has regained sufficient strength, it will explain the rest. It has requested we join it on the balcony."

"Oookay."

Mister Woolsey gave something of a grin to the clearly confused Colonel as he headed out onto the balcony.

~o~o~o~

A few hours later Sheppard was in his office working on the reports from today's fiasco when the mist finally made a reappearance. Settling back in his chair, he watched as it oozed its way through the cracks in the door.

"That's creepy, by the way."

Sheppard sensed amusement from it. "Would you prefer I knock?"

"Actually, yeah."

The amusement increased. "Very well, then. I shall have one of your underlings do so for me next time."

Now Sheppard scowled as he envisioned the thing taking over someone's body. He seriously hoped that wasn't possible, but nothing would surprise him in this galaxy anymore. "Did you come here just to creep me out, or was there something you wanted?"

"I have come from speaking with Mister Woolsey. He has contacted the Daedalus and Colonel Caldwell has agreed to transport me to my home planet. The ship will arrive tomorrow. I wish to see more of your city."

"You certainly don't need my permission since you can do…whatever it was you just did."

"That is true. But I am unfamiliar with your city. I wish not to intrude where I am not welcome."

"So you want a tour guide."

"In essence, yes."

Heaving a sigh, Sheppard glanced back to the reports. He was almost finished. There wasn't anything here that couldn't wait until tomorrow. But he had been wanting to see Lorne. He still hoped to somehow manage to talk some sense into the man. He hadn't even realized he was scowling at his laptop monitor until the thing spoke again.

"He is…damaged?"

Still scowling, Sheppard felt his mood darkening. With a noncommittal grunt he closed the laptop. "Something like that."

"You wish to see him?"

Standing up, Sheppard headed toward the door, "Yeah, come on. I'll give you the dime tour."

After a few minutes of walking in silence, heading deeper and deeper into the bowels of the city, Sheppard had almost forgotten the entity as he was wrapped up in his thoughts. He had decided to take the long way around to give himself to think about what he would say. That is, if Lorne would even listen.

"He does not value the words of a friend?"

Startled out of his thoughts Sheppard couldn't repress the flare of anger as he stopped and spun around to face the thing drifting a few feet behind him. "I said stay out of my head."

In response, Sheppard felt a brief flash of something he could only ascribe to irritation. "I am not influencing you in any way. I am merely curious."

"Well keep your damn curiosity to yourself. You said you've been around the galaxy and back for…forever. You should know by now that people's thoughts are private."

"As you wish."

"Why don't you go bug Teyla, or someone else? I'm sure McKay would love to have a conversation with you."

"I believe the phrase you use around here is 'lab rat'. I have no desire to be his 'lab rat'."

Sheppard couldn't help the smirk. "Figured that out already, huh? Well, fine. Tag along. Just stay out of my way and stay out of my head."

"As you wish."

As Sheppard resumed his meandering trek down the corridors into the lower levels of the city, he again began to feel the sense of isolation this area had.

"Why would you put someone who is damaged down here?" it asked, again interrupting his thoughts.

Heaving a mental sigh he hoped the thing would hear Sheppard said, "I didn't. We didn't. He did."

He could sense the irritation it conveyed at his vague response. "He chose to withdraw?"

"That's one way to put it. He thinks he's protecting the city."

"He is dangerous?"

"He thinks so."

"All corporeal beings possess the capacity for violence. Why does he feel differently?"

"I don't know. Why don't you ask _him?_ " Sheppard spouted off irritably not realizing that it just might take him seriously.

Before he had a chance to react, it took off through a floor vent. Sheppard knew he was still two floors away from Lorne's cell. Not wanting to raise the alarm, Sheppard shouted before mentally calling after it. Taking off at a flat run, he chased it. By this point he was certain it was ignoring him, just as he'd asked. Very nearly pissed off, he came around the corner to the prison room where Lorne's cell was just in time to see the guards raising their weapons at it.

"Hold your fire!" Sheppard shouted. "Damn it! I didn't mean what I said. Leave him alone!"

 _And this is why telepathic communication is far superior to your vocal language,_ it sent at him smugly as it slipped between the unseen cracks in the doors.

Growling curses, Sheppard opened the door just as it coalesced on the other side. "I don't give a damn what you think! You know damn well what I meant."

"John?" Lorne asked, coming toward the door of the cell just out of reach of the force field.

"What?" the Colonel snapped at his friend unintentionally.

"Who are you talking to?"

Apparently he hadn't seen the now much smaller puff of smoke that was sitting behind one of the main beams of the cell structure. Glaring at it, Sheppard said, "Get over here where he can see you."

"I thought I was the crazy one here," Lorne started with a grin before he caught sight of the little puff of mist. "What the hell…"

"Remember the report from M five S two two four?"

"No, sir."

"Energy beings made of mist. Stargate kills them every time it's dialed. Ring a bell?"

"Vaguely," Lorne said, keeping his eyes on the thing, suddenly seeming very glad for the shield. "You mean the ones that tried to kill you by trapping you in a fantasy or something?"

"Yeah, those."

The two guards, looking as wary and confused as Lorne looked like they weren't sure if they should shoot it or call for backup.

"What's it doing here?"

"We picked up this hitchhiker on our last mission. Saved our butts, actually. So we're taking it home."

"Oh."

"You are broken," it stated bluntly.

"Gee, thanks. Nice to meet you, too," Lorne shot back with a scowl.

"I did not mean to cause you pain."

Lorne decided to ignore it and turned his attention to Sheppard, scowl still in place. "Why are you here?"

"I came to talk to you. But it decided to tag along since the Daedalus won't arrive until tomorrow."

"I can sense your pain."

"Good for you," Lorne snapped.

"What did I say about staying out of people's heads?" Sheppard added.

"I can help."

Both of them blinked in surprise before Lorne laughed. "Is that why you brought it here?"

"Hey, I didn't. It followed me."

"Why do you isolate yourself?"

"What?"

"Look, I told you—"

Before Sheppard could finish, the thing spread itself so thin it became invisible before a section of the force field began glowing purple briefly. A moment later it materialized on the inside of the cell making Lorne back up.

"Why do you isolate yourself?"

Lorne looked to Sheppard. "John—"

"Do you not wished to be healed?" it asked, more forcefully.

"Leave him the hell alone," Sheppard warned.

"Of course I do," Lorne snapped. "John, what the hell is this?"

"They can heal you. But you chose to be down here, away from them, instead," it told him, moving slightly closer, making him back up more.

"Get out of there," Sheppard told it.

"Part of you knows they can help. So you run. I can see it," the thing continued.

"Get out of my head!"

Sheppard was done. He dropped the shield to step inside. But the thing had other plans. A gray mist of a force field suddenly appeared between him and Lorne, shocking him when he encountered it.

"What the hell are you doing?!" Sheppard roared. "Get away from him!"

Lorne had backed all the way to the cot and found himself with nowhere to go. The thing kept advancing until it was inches from him.

"You are so certain you will hurt others that you would rather die."

"Yes!"

"Regardless of the pain they will suffer in your absence?"

Sheppard felt the hairs on the back of his neck standing up. He'd suspected, but didn't really believe. Lorne's pallor and silence told him all he needed to know. The cold blue glare he gave the thing screamed at how deliberately he was ignoring John's presence. As Evan's fists began to slacken, he realized there was something more going on that he was not privy to.

"Sir? Should I call security?" one of the guards asked, still watching the exchange.

"No. Wait."

Suddenly Lorne's expression turned sad as he asked the entity, "What right do you have?"

"The same as all living things," it replied, exuding sadness.

Whatever non-verbal communication was taking place seemed to shock Lorne to his core. He broke out in a sweat as his pallor became more pronounced. Sheppard very nearly decided to fight his way through that damn field to stop whatever it was doing to his friend; but something had changed in that expression. Beyond the sheer terror and heartbreaking pain he could see in Lorne's face, there was something else.

"It's not possible," Lorne said, swallowing thickly. "No. Just…just go away. Leave me alone."

"As you wish," it said aloud, withdrawing itself back into a small ball.

"Wait," Sheppard said, before it could go. He knew he'd seen it. He saw something in Evan during that exchange. He didn't imagine it. The feeling in his gut was a cold, hard certainty. And, now, as his friend turned away to hide whatever it was had been on his face, all doubt was removed.

"You can help him?"

"John, enough," Lorne said weakly, sitting on the cot to cover his shaking legs.

"Shut up, Evan," he snapped before turning back to the hovering entity. "You really can heal him?"

"Sheppard! This is none of your—"

Suddenly Sheppard was bombarded with images, sensations, vague memories that weren't his, but he knew had come from Lorne. At the same time Lorne buried his face in his hands as he was fed something similar from Sheppard. For both of them it was no more than a heartbeat in time, but it felt like a lifetime. Now they both had a better understanding of where the other was coming from as the entity backed off. Taking a deep, shuddering breath, Sheppard pulled himself together. Those had been muted, vague. He couldn't even begin to imagine the horror of living through that.

Lorne was the first to recover. Pulling his hands away he stared between his knees down at the floor, defeat in every inch of his being. "So, now you know," he said bitterly, not able to face his friend.

"Yeah, and it doesn't change anything. You still have to choose," Sheppard told him, crossing his arms across his chest to still his shaking hands.

Laughing bitterly, he finally turned to his former commanding officer. "Aren't you a little old to believe in fairy tales with happy endings?"

"This about getting your life back. What have you got to lose?"

Lorne nodded, seeming to actually consider it. The hope Sheppard had seen earlier was gone, but at least he was willing to listen, now. Heaving a sigh, Lorne looked up to the ball of mist.

"What do I need to do?"

Instead of replying, it drifted toward him and a thin tendril snaked its way to his head. A moment later Lorne turned sideways and lay down on the cot. Sheppard resisted the urge to interfere, still not entirely trusting the thing. But the flashes he had seen of Lorne's experiences from his time in captivity were enough to convince him that literally anything was worth a try; and he didn't blame his friend one bit for what he'd been planning after something like that. Those images were already fading, but had been brutal enough to shock him to his core.

Stepping back out of the cell, he raised the force field again. Giving his instructions to the guards, he headed for Mister Woolsey's office.


	19. Chapter 18

**Chapter Eighteen**

"You gave that thing permission to muck around in Lorne's head?" McKay asked incredulously.

"No, _Lorne_ gave it permission," Sheppard corrected irritably. "It just followed me."

"You're out of your bloody mind," Beckett commented, not for the first time. "We have no idea what that thing can do."

"Does it matter if it helps him?" Sheppard shot back across the conference room table. "Nothing we can do will make a difference. And we all know that going back to Earth just means he'll be locked up in a mental ward."

"That may be so, Colonel. But what if it leaves Col—Mister Lorne under its control?" Woolsey asked, correcting himself.

"So it can do what?" Sheppard countered. "It has no interest in the city. It likes Wraith about as much as we do. And it has about as much in common with the Ancients as I do, if the attitude says anything. What could it possibly want with him?"

"He's got a point," McKay added. "If it wanted to control the city, there's not much we could do to stop it. The city sensors don't pick it up, and it goes right through energy shields. It's better off without a body in that case. So far the only thing we know for certain that can even hurt it is the gate. And we can't even begin to understand how that works."

"I've conversed with it myself. I am aware of its capabilities and weaknesses. I don't doubt its intentions," Woolsey said, seeming to pick his words carefully. "But what of Mister Lorne's well-being? Can it really do what it says and heal him? Or will it be more like erasing data from a hard drive?"

Sheppard shook his head slowly. "I don't know. I don't think even Lorne knows. But he was willing to try. Not that long ago you told me he has the right to choose his treatment. How is this any different?"

The expedition leader gave Sheppard a look that made him feel like the crazy one for a moment before his expression became more contemplative. "I suppose there is no difference in that sense. Since it's already started, I presume stopping would be a bad idea?" he asked dryly.

Sheppard shrugged. "No clue. You'll have to ask it."

"Which would likely lead to further complications," Woolsey followed with a sigh. "Doctor would you monitor the situation and keep me updated?"

"Of course," Beckett replied, seeming irritated that he had to be asked in the first place.

"Thank you. Then I suppose there is little else to do. I've already suspended gate travel until the entity is safely on board the Daedalus. Hopefully our teams won't be stranded for too long."

This last he threw at Sheppard, as if still implying all of this was somehow his fault. Sheppard just let it roll off him. He had bigger concerns right now than Mister Woolsey's bad hair day.

~o~o~o~

For three days the rest of Atlantis seemed to just fade away. Sheppard only vaguely noticed the arrival of the Daedalus. He had stationed himself, along with a pair of rotating guards, inside the prison room where Lorne's cell was located. Sitting in what he considered to be the single most uncomfortable chair in the whole city, he kept a vigil just the other side of the force field from Lorne's cot. From this vantage point, he could see every breath as Lorne's chest rose and fell steadily. His pulse was visible through the throbbing on his neck. Aside from these, Lorne was so still it even worried Beckett. One more than one occasion Carson had come by to check on his friend and patient with a deeply worried frown. By the end of the second day he was considering adding a feeding tube to go with the other equipment the entity had allowed to be connected to Lorne.

The entity itself made no attempts to communicate with any of them. The only indication it gave that it noticed any other presence in the room was when it moved out of the way of whatever it was Beckett was trying to do. Other than that, the ball stayed stationary, and the tendril was still attached to Lorne's forehead. From what Beckett was able to determine, Lorne's cognitive functions and EEG readings were off the chart. The closest comparison he had was when Rodney had very nearly ascended, and that wasn't even very close.

That had made them all nervous. The amount of activity in McKay's brain had virtually overloaded it and nearly killed him. This was far more intense, and prolonged. Yet, Beckett knew that interrupting whatever it was that the entity was doing to him could just as easily kill him. It hadn't taken long for him to realize that the entity had virtually taken over all of Lorne's brain and was somehow manually manipulating his medulla to control his autonomic functions. It was literally acting as life support. Once that was discovered, any ideas of interrupting the process was out of the question. All they could do was wait and hope.

Not surprisingly, Beckett had stationed himself within the room much as had Sheppard. In their vigil there didn't seem to be much to say. There were only three possible outcomes, and nothing they said or did would affect that now. From time to time Sheppard felt that twisting feeling of dread in his gut as he second guessed his actions in pushing Lorne into this when he considered those options. Lorne could die or become a vegetable from damage done to his brain. It could fail completely and they were right back where they started. Or it would work.

But if it did work, what then?

Until the Daedalus arrived and Colonel Caldwell was brought up to speed on Lorne's return from the dead, no one outside of Atlantis had known otherwise. Of course, Caldwell had been about as happy with the situation as he would finding a scorpion in his bed. As far as he was concerned this whole thing was a security risk, and neither Lorne nor the entity were to be trusted. To be fair, Sheppard had tossed that around, as well. Even if Lorne survived and this worked, there was going to be weeks, if not months of explaining to do just regarding the fact that they'd kept his presence hidden from the SGC for as long as they had. Despite Woolsey readily accepting responsibility for this, Sheppard and Beckett weren't going to let him face that alone.

Heaving a sigh, Sheppard watched. So long as Lorne continued to breathe and Beckett wasn't in a panic about potential brain damage or system failure, there was nothing to be done.

~o~o~o~

John knew he was falling asleep. Three going on four days fighting sleep in the hopes he would at least be conscious when Lorne woke up, emerged, whatever the hell Beckett wanted to call it, had worn him down. He'd become a past master at sleeping sitting up over the years; so now the difficulty was in keeping himself awake when all he really had was Carson's silent companionship, the hum of the computers and machines, and the steady rise and fall of Evan's chest.

Already the images of what the entity had shown him through Evan's eyes had faded until he remembered that something had passed between them, but not the what. He was pretty sure that was intentional, too. Otherwise those memories would have had him up with nightmares for the rest of his life. Not once in all of this did he find fault with his friend and former XO. If anything, it had raised his esteem. But things had grown so muddled in his sleep-deprived state, he almost didn't know where he was anymore.

In his semi-conscious state, images of Lorne as he'd been before all this became meshed with those mad rages they had seen since bringing him back. At one point Sheppard even dreamed that the old Lorne was fighting Yann in a brutal, bloody fight…and losing. Only being half asleep, Sheppard had managed to shake that one off; but the sounds of movement beside him brought him back to a slightly more aware state. Cracking one eye he glanced at Beckett in the chair beside him. An instant later he sat bolt upright when he caught sight of what Beckett was looking at.

The EEG had gone flat. Everything else had remained unchanged. Evan's heart still beat, his chest still rose and fell, but there was virtually no sign of activity anymore. John and Carson jumped to their feet in near unison as the tendril the entity had extended retracted out of Lorne's forehead and back into itself. For a moment it seemed to just hover, before coming closer and eventually gliding through the force field.

 _His body needs nourishment and rest,_ the entity told them, before they could ask.

"Did it work?" Sheppard asked.

 _I have done all I can. Now it is up to him which path he will choose._

Ignoring this, Beckett dropped the force field and entered the cell.

"What the hell does that mean?" Sheppard asked, not liking the answer.

Carson's gasp drew his attention back to the goings on in the cell. And, he very nearly did the same when Lorne's eyes opened up and he sat bolt upright shaking his head.

"Ow, what the…" Lorne looked around, his eyes passed over Beckett and Sheppard to focus on the entity. "Just like that?" he asked aloud, leaving Sheppard and Beckett to look at each other in confusion.

The mist drifted back toward Lorne, a sense of amusement filling the room. _I believe the most commonly used turn of phrase in these circumstances is 'I told you so',_ they all heard it tell Lorne.

Evan's laugh made John's tension melt away. Carson scowled, still not understanding what had just happened medically, and not happy about it in the least. Lorne had been in a coma only seconds before.

"Okay, I earned that," Evan told it. "But did you have to be so dramatic about it?"

 _It was your choice, your perception was all that mattered._

"Fair enough," he agreed, moving to stand up with muscles left stiff from days of inactivity.

"Would either of you care to clue us in?" Sheppard finally asked.

Lorne's look of mischievousness was something they thought they'd never see again. "Trust me on this, John. You wouldn't get it."

 _I killed him,_ the entity said smugly. _He decided that was not a state in which he wanted to remain._

"And that took almost five days?" Beckett asked, not quite believing it.

"Well, no. There was a lot more to it. That was just the highlight of that little trip. I can fill you all in later. But I can say he's anxious to get home, now. He's got a lot to talk about with his people."

"What?"

"Give him some time to recover. He'll tell you. What time is it?"

"Not quite four in the morning," Sheppard answered.

"Sorry, we're a few hours away from sunrise. Will you be okay until then?" Lorne asked it.

 _Yes,_ they all heard again.

"Good," Lorne nodded before turning to Beckett. "I could use some energy, too. I don't supposed I'd be allowed some real food for a change?"


	20. Epilogue

**Epilogue**

"So, what you're saying is that it never happened?"

"No, Doc," Lorne said with a groan as he sat back in the chair, staring at the ceiling.

Somewhere in the back of his mind he cursed the dusty old man and wondered if there was any way to get another shrink before he breathed on the guy too hard making him snap in like a twig. After weeks of bouncing around SGC facilities and being poked, prodded, and tested in every way they could think of and a few he was certain they made up on the spot, they were finally convinced he really was Lieutenant Colonel Evan Lorne, alive and well. What they couldn't seem to wrap their paranoid minds around was the fact that he really had been through all that he claimed and come out the other side almost as if it had never happened. They refused to believe, despite all the evidence, that he was as mentally healthy as he was physically.

Reigning in his impatience, Lorne tried again.

"It all happened. The physical evidence of half of it is all over my body. I remember every second of it. But it's muted, somehow. He did something that makes it all feel distant; almost like it happened to someone else, but it didn't. I still know everything I did, and even what Yann did. But I also know that is not me. Is any of this getting through to you?"

"The mist?"

"Yes."

The man gave a dry grunt. "Denial."

Not bothering to hide his disgust, Lorne gave up. "You're the third shrink I've talked to this week alone. You guys rotate in and faster than the guards around here. And I'm betting money at this point it's because none of you can find anything wrong with me. Not a one of you knows what to do with me anymore. So, reinstate me."

"What you're saying is that after all of that, you want to go back to where it all happened?" his voice was so dry and flat Lorne began to feel like he would have been better off talking to the guy's bookshelf across the room. Probably more animated, too.

"No, I'm saying I want to go home."

"To Atlantis?"

"Yes."

"It's a posting. They can transfer you at any time."

"Fine, I want to return to my post. Happy?"

"Probably not, but I certainly am," came a new voice from behind Lorne that had him standing at attention in under a second. "At ease, Colonel."

Doctor Lutz rose to his feet more slowly, this time with a smile. "Good afternoon, General."

O'Neil eyed Lorne with a wink before turning back to the psychologist. "That's fifty you owe me."

Lutz snorted. "You'd think with your pay you could afford not to squeeze the little guys all the time," he groused good-naturedly showing more animation than Lorne had seen all day.

Seeing Lorne struggling to keep his curiosity in check, O'Neil decided take pity on the poor Colonel. "I bet him fifty you'd be begging to return to Atlantis before the end of the month."

"Yes, sir," Lorne replied neutrally.

Picking up his folders and tablet, Lutz shook O'Neil's hand. "I'll catch you later."

"Bring that fifty."

"Yeah, yeah."

O'Neil eyed Lorne with no small amount of amusement as the older man left the drab office. "Come on, let's go for a walk."

"Yes, sir."

"Jack."

"Sir?"

"My name is Jack. Save the honorifics for formal visits."

"Yes, sir," Lorne shot back with a smile.

O'Neil grunted. "I see why Colonel Sheppard likes you."

For a few moments they walked in silence through the light security facility's halls until they were finally able to take a deep breath of fresh air away from the sterile rooms. Spotting a quiet area away from the few people wandering about, O'Neil led them over to a bench where they sat comfortably, taking in the afternoon sun.

"It's almost summer on Atlantis right now," Lorne commented. "Feels odd to be sitting here in autumn."

"Kinda lose track after a while, don't ya?"

Lorne nodded. "So, you said this isn't an official visit. What's the bad news?"

"Bad news?" O'Neil repeated incredulously. "What makes you think I didn't just come by to say happy birthday?"

"A few months too late for that," he shot back wryly.

"Right. I must have missed that part."

Lorne kept his silence, his gaze steady as he mentally prepared for what he knew was coming next. He didn't even particularly care if it came off as challenging at this point. Given where he stood, he didn't have much to lose anyway.

"Okay, fine. Unofficially, mind you. You've been through every test, every analysis, every recertification, every…everything, they could come up with."

"And?"

"And you've passed them all."

"But I'm either being forced to retire or being reassigned. So which one is it?"

"What makes you think that?"

"I've been here for three months. No one will even tell me news of what's going on in Atlantis. As far as everyone here is concerned, I was never there."

O'Neil chuckled. "Oh no, you were there alright. Colonel Sheppard won't let us forget."

"So what is it, Jack? I'm just stuck in limbo until someone with even higher rank pulls some strings to make me disappear?"

O'Neil's gaze became distant as he sat back, looking over the multi-hued leaves of the distant trees. "About a year before we met on P three X four oh three I went through something very similar. A Goa'uld by the name of Ba'al—nasty piece of work—tortured me to death too many times to count. Healed me in a sarcophagus, and then started all over again."

Lorne didn't know what to say or where this was going, so he just nodded. For a moment O'Neil was quiet as he delved into those memories, before he turned his attention back to Lorne. The intensity of that gaze very nearly made him freeze.

"Through all of that, I knew my team was looking for me. And I had a little help from a friend. You remember Doctor Jackson?"

Lorne nodded.

"He was there. So that's two things I had going for me. According to the reports, you were dead. No one was looking for you, no one knew you were alive. You didn't even have an ascended friend to keep you going."

"What's your point?"

"Why did you keep going?"

Lorne quirked a grin. "What makes you think I did?"

O'Neil shook his head. "You can tell the shrinks whatever you want. But you're here now. That tells me you never gave up. So what is it you hoped to accomplish hanging on?"

Lorne's grin faded as he considered that seriously for the first time. He didn't have to consider for long. "I just wanted to go home. I had to do whatever I could to protect that home to be able to have one to go back to."

"Atlantis."

Lorne nodded, feeling his homesickness more acutely than ever. O'Neil seemed to sense this, and nodded contemplatively. After a moment he patted Lorne's shoulder.

"Then it's a good thing you've got friends in high place, Evan. The paperwork isn't complete, yet. But you're being reinstated. We're sending you home on the Daedalus tomorrow."

Lorne was hard-pressed not jump up and shout with joy.

"Besides, we need someone we can trust to keep Colonel Sheppard in line. For whatever reason, he listens to you."

Lorne chuckled. "Guilt probably."

"Don't underestimate the power of guilt. Oh, and debt. Here," he said, pulling a folded one hundred dollar bill out of his pocket. "He sent this through the gate on the last dial in."

Seeing a tiny note folded inside, Lorne laughed as he read it.

 _This is for pizza, popcorn, and beer. You'll get what I owe you when you get back here. –Sheppard_

Lorne passed to note to O'Neil with the explanation, "Football season."

"Ah," he said, handing it back.

"Does he know?" Lorne asked as a thought occurred to him.

O'Neil shook his head. "Not officially. But he never doubted it."

Lorne just smiled. That was the Colonel Sheppard he remembered. The man wasn't going to give up. Standing up, Lorne happily shook O'Neil's hand before giving him a salute from the heart. After that, there was nothing that was going to keep him from giving in to the whoop of excitement he felt at the prospect of finally being able to go home.


End file.
